


Dissolve Me

by everythingintransit



Category: Fall Out Boy, Mindless Self Indulgence (Band), My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, background ryden, mentions of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingintransit/pseuds/everythingintransit
Summary: Gerard Way sunburns easily and talks too much and has mastered the art of creating paninis in the dining hall and eating them while running to class. He drinks iced coffee when it's below zero outside and carries crystals in his pockets party for comfort and partly because they weigh him down like an anchor that refuses to sink.Gerard Way finds himself in love during his sophomore year of university with a guy that he sometimes goes bowling with. This guy is named Frank Iero and runs a radio show after hours where he talks in a sexy rough voice about things that can get him into trouble if anyone bothers to listen. But Gerard listens.Gerard Way can do magic. Lightbulbs shatter when he gets excited and he can walk through a thunderstorm in dry clothes. Yet he's powerless when it comes to Frank, and the relationship he's seeking ends up looking close to impossible from where he's standing. But he's in love, and love is patient and kind and shattered glass, shit like that. Love is something he deserves.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 85
Kudos: 150





	1. 88.3!! PUNK!!

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is an idea i've had for a while and have started writing. don't expect consistent updates because i'm the absolute worst at posting anything with a sort of schedule. just vibe with it, & try to enjoy

The music has stopped playing. Fuck yes. Gerard curls tighter around the mini radio and straightens the antennae so it pokes out of his blanket tent. He hears Frank giggle over the line and listens closely as he starts complaining about some professor that Gerard doesn't have. Frank always talks about anything that can get him into trouble late at night, and Gerard is always enthralled by what he has to say, no matter how boring the topic. As Frank rambles, Gerard closes his eyes and lets his rough, low voice soothe him. God, his voice...

"Gerard!" Ray ruins everything, he always does. Gerard hisses and pulls his blankets farther over him to block out the light that Ray had turned on. Ray rips the blanket back and leans over him, smashing the antennae back into the radio and frowning at Gerard. "It's three in the morning." Ray mutters, snatching the radio from his roommate's hands. Gerard rolls over with a groan, his limbs cramped and falling asleep.

"Is it?" He asks lazily, stretching his left arm and leg off the bed as he provides Ray with one of his winning smiles. 

"Don't try that on me." Ray says, arms crossed and face solemn. Now that the radio is off and the trance of Frank's voice has left, Gerard is left feeling oddly weak and sick, and he rolls onto his back, staring at the beige ceiling, trying to swallow to calm the sudden nausea that bombards him. "Christmas is coming up, should I get you some headphones?" Ray asks sarcastically. Gerard has headphones, of course, but gets too lazy to move after midnight and would rather just keep the radio on real low, hoping that Ray won't wake. But Ray is a light sleeper. Gerard doesn't respond to him, and Ray looks at him closely. "Are you okay?" Gerard looks rather green and Ray worries about him. His worries prove to be genuine when Gerard leans far over the side of his bed and throws up.

Ray stands way back as Gerard starts laughing, throws up again, and then promptly falls off the bed. He does enough to propel himself around the area of vomit and hits the floor hard, laughing and coughing and spitting. This happens, sometimes, Gerard randomly falls ill and once Ray drove him to the ER, but it's usually not so bad. They both know why it happens, what the cause is, and Ray wonders what Gerard had done this time. He would've helped his friend if there wasn't a knock on the door, and Gerard falls silent, hoping that it's not the RA. 

Ray shoots a dark look at Gerard who smiles in return, and heads to the door with the radio still in his arms. On the other side of the door is the pissbaby from across the hall, wearing fuzzy pajama pants and a sweatshirt.

"It's three in the morning." The pissbaby says, and Ray gets a sickening feeling of deja vu. Ray nods and leans casually against the doorframe, making sure that the sight of Gerard and his puke aren't visible. " _Again."_ The pissbaby continues, and Ray nods again, easing the door shut behind him. Ray doesn't even know his name.

"Listen," Ray starts with a pause for effect and the pissbaby offers-

"Brendon." 

"Listen, Brandon. My roommate is a little-" Ray whistles and makes a circle around his temple. "Cuckoo, y'know? He's also chronically ill. It's a hard life! But this is uni, Braedon, and we're all adults. I'll try to quiet him down, but adaptation and survival are necessary skills at this stage in life, so I'm gonna suggest investing in some ear plugs." Brendon pouts and looks like he's about to start crying.

"But-"

"But remember the three Rs!" Ray bullshits. "Rest, relaxation, and rejuvenation. All three are essential! So how about we all get some rest and you can come to my meditation seminar tomorrow, huh? Ray Toro- remember the name!" He shakes Brendon's hand hard, provides a winning smile, and ducks back behind his door. It ends up slammed in Brendon's face. Gerard is dissolving into hysterics on the floor. Ray and Gerard get along well because they both have sharp minds, big senses of humor, and can't take anything too seriously. Gerard's puking tonight was a one time situation, that much is clear, judging by his high spirits. 

"I'm going to sleep." Ray announces, and steps over Gerard's body to leap into his bed. Ray switches off the lamp next to his bed, pulls up his covers, and faces the wall, radio tucked under his chin.

Gerard spends the rest of the night cleaning vomit off the floor in the dark. 

🝡

It goes to say that Gerard isn't feeling his finest the next morning, he feels _ill_ in all senses of it, hot and cold and stuffy and nauseous all at once and none of this is helped by the fact that he's got a full day of classes today and the ice in has started. Which means that he won't see bare ground again until April.

He dresses quickly, throwing layer on top of layer, and adding a sweater and a scarf for good measure. He feels sweaty and badly feverish in the dorm, hoping that it's cold enough outside to bring his body temperature down. Ray has already left, he had accidentally woken Gerard up at six in the morning while packing, and Gerard still feels a little bad for forgetting his roommate's trip.

There is no meditation seminar today because Ray has gone down to New York City on a big bus that will no doubt get stuck in the snow for a week-long program on music production- Ray's major. 

Gerard doesn't have a major and won't until the beginning of his junior year so right now he's waltzing through university and enjoying it to its fullest potential; thanking the lord that he doesn't believe in for what he was blessed with. 

Frank Iero.

Frank Iero is a blessing come to earth in the form of a classmate in Gerard's book and media studies class, which Gerard has first thing in the morning, and would have usually missed if not for Frank Iero. 

Gerard presses a shaky hand against his window and reluctantly adds a winter coat to his outfit. On the verge of overheating, he grabs his bag and leaves. It's freezing fucking cold outside but Gerard still feels like he's melting, and he wades through a pileup of snow outside his dorm that no one has shoveled yet, and keeps his head down against the biting wind as he heads towards the Robarts Library on the end of the block. 

Inside, it's so hot that Gerard has to sit down on a bench in the entryway. No one stops to watch him undress as they walk by, and he ends up in the dirty old Space Jam t-shirt that he slept in (which smells a little like puke), his snow stained jeans, and his ugly winter boots. With his sweater, coat, and scarf balled up in his arms, Gerard climbs up to the top floor of the library and makes a left towards where the secluded classroom is.

He's late, always is, and takes the back door in to seat himself very quietly at a desk in the back. 

Frank is sitting diagonally to his left, one row ahead of him. He's wearing skinny jeans and soaking wet high top Converse and a nice, expensive looking jacket with the collar turned up. He also wears fingerless gloves, which are a fashion faux pas that Gerard lets slip because Frank is holding a cup of coffee. And Gerard loves coffee. He also loves helping people, and concentrates hard enough on Frank's shoes for long enough that they dry. They're brighter that way, a cheery red instead of a drab one, and remind Gerard of Christmas. It's mid November, with Thanksgiving a few days away, not as though Canadians care, and Gerard can't wait until Christmas. 

Gerard sits daydreaming for all of class. He doesn't have any close friends in this class, so no one bothers to remind him to take any notes. School has only been in session for a few months, and Gerard has already fallen comfortably behind. 

At the end of class, Gerard is half asleep and wakes himself up with a sneezing fit. Frank trips over Gerard's ball of dripping wet winter outerwear on the floor, and Gerard springs up, apologetic. 

"Sorry, man, I need a better storage solution." Gerard laughs, gathering his wet coat off the floor. "I dig your shoes, by the way. They remind me of Christmas. But respect if you're Jewish, or something. Hanukkah starts early this year, right?" Gerard delivers a dazzling smile that absolutely oozes attractive magic, which Frank is oblivious to. He smiles at Gerard though, enjoying something about his infectious energy.

"Nah, I was raised Catholic. And thanks, about the shoes." If Gerard hadn't been working overtime to keep the magic going, Frank would have ditched the awkward conversation and left, but Gerard's grin is so infectious that Frank hesitates, wondering if there's anything left to say.

"I love your radio show!" Gerard gushes, smiling with all his teeth. Frank smiles too, and scratches the back of his neck a little bashfully. 

"Yeah? You listen?"

"As often as I can. It's some great stuff, man, seriously." The thing about Gerard is that he can't carry an entire conversation one sidedly, and clears his throat, feeling the effects of his magic loosen through Frank's obvious disinterest in the conversation. The room seems to feel freezing, and Gerard shivers. 

Frank pulls his phone out of his pocket and quickly glances at the screen.

"Well, I've gotta split. See you around." He says and Gerard realizes that his phone had just been an excuse to leave the conversation. Frank turns and walks out of class without so much as a glance behind him, and Gerard suddenly feels all hot again. 

He reads the pins on the back of Frank’s bag until they get too small to see. One of them is a red, white, and blue Bernie Sanders pin which Gerard doesn’t understand because they live in Canada. There’s a black one that says “88.3!! PUNK!!” that Gerard would love to have. There’s a Black Flag one, a black and white checkered Vans one, an ACLU one (which, again, doesn’t make sense because they’re in Canada), a “DUMP TRUMP” one (okay,  _ again) _ , and last but not least, one with a pride flag that has a white equals sign printed across it.

Frank and his many pins disappear around the corner and Gerard relaxes the effects of his charm. He feels relieved, and his body temperature fixes itself a bit, but he still feels shit. Gerard texts his friend Lindsey asking if she has any cough drops because his pants are still damp and he's not wading through more snow to go to a Rexall to buy his own cough drops. Plus, if you have enough of Lindsey's, you can get high. 

She texts back right away to meet her outside the library and he does just that. By the time he gets back outside, he feels marginally better. And he knows that his own actions are making himself sick, but he pushes those thoughts away as he stands in the freezing air. The snow and sky are so white that he can't even see his breath, and he presses his red, chapped lips together as he waits. 

Lindsey shows up as fast as ever, not wearing much, and talking loudly on the phone, as usual. She's a pretty consistent person. And popular, which Gerard is, unfortunately, not. Lindsey talks on her phone a lot, and sometimes it gets annoying when Gerard is trying to talk to her but she's preoccupied with the five other people that she juggles virtual conversations with. None of that matters now, though, because she pulls a bag of cherry cough drops from her bag and throws them at Gerard like she pitches for the Blue Jays, or some shit. Gerard catches the bag with freezing hands and tries to start unwrapping a cough drop, having a hard time because his fingers are numb and stiff. 

Lindsey is popping her gum and finishing up her phone conversation. She clicks it off with her sleek black acrylic nails and gives Gerard a pity look.

"What else do you have today? IR?" She asks, and Gerard shakes his head miserably, and trails after her as they start walking down the block. 

"I'm sick." He says dramatically, and Lindsey doesn't even look at him before she replies.

"Yeah, but it's your own fault. You weren't sick two days ago." Gerard sighs because she's right, but also starting to walk off campus. Honestly, he doesn't care anymore. 

"Where are we going?" He asks, trying to fall into step next to her. She's taller than him, goddammit, and is wearing high heeled black boots and huge swinging black hoop earrings and thick, dark eyeliner that makes Gerard think that maybe she's off to see Kitty. Lindsey is a self proclaimed slutty which, neither of which are negative terms, and she gets _so_ much more action than he ever will and though he isn't bisexual, he would kill to have as many casual "friends" as hers.

Like, if all of them were Frank Iero. 

"League." She replies simply, and Gerard groans. It's in a basement and he doesn't get good reception down there. Lindsey rolls her eyes and pops her gum, her intelligent eyes trying to take apart Gerard's mind from the inside. "Is Ray gone?" She asks.

"Ray is gone." He replies sadly. She looks almost half sympathetic. 

“You need to call your mom.” Gerard’s face turns sour, he knows that he has to and he knows that she's the reason why he's sick,  but when Lindsey pulls her hands up to tighten her jet black pigtails that are tied with black and purple ribbons, he realizes that she doesn’t have time for him.

“Maybe later. I think I’ll just go bother ‘Trick if I can find him.”

“You’re skipping IR?”

“Aren’t you?” Lindsey smiles at him. The smiley piercing that she just got gleams above her teeth. Perfectly straight, perfectly perfect. Lindsey is fantastic. Gerard rubs his red hands together and Lindsey, seemingly completely unaffected by the cold, looks around at the snowed out environment.

“Ice in has started. Maybe we can bowl later?” She offers kindly.

“Yeah! Yeah, with Jamia?”

“Yeah.” She confirms, smiling when she thinks about Jamia. Lindsey has so many fuckbuddies. Gerard smiles when he thinks about Jamia because she’s best friends with Frank and sometimes when Gerard goes bowling with her and Lindsey, she brings Frank along. 

And that’s really fun. 

Lindsey winks at him and starts to walk away, already pulling up a new number to call on her phone. Gerard turns the other way and slips hard on ice to step right into a snowdrift. The snow soaks him all the way up to his knees, but he's generally unbothered. This is just winter in Toronto. 

🝡

“Rose tea.” Gerard suggests, and Ryan rolls his eyes. Gerard has been hanging around at Innis Cafe for a good two hours now, bugging the hell out of Ryan Ross. Gerard and Ryan really don’t know each other too well, they’re friends but not  _ friends,  _ and Gerard only really full on talks to Ryan when he’s bored, missing class, or when Ray has left. 

“No.” Is all Ryan says. He's sat on his ass, doing nothing, because no one is there. The heavy snow turns into real ice at night, and no one has the time or energy to head out to a useless cafe. Still, Ryan's shift ends at ten, and it's only seven. Gerard has wandered in with a warm bag of McDonald's fries and has been quizzing Ryan on types of tea while sampling fries dipped in an assortment of sauces. 

Safe to say, Ryan hates him.

“African Nectar?” Gerard asks, accidentally eating a little bit of cardboard from the fry box. Ryan doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why do you know every single type of tea in the world?” Ryan asks in barely concealed frustration.

“Well, I don’t know. I try to care about-” Gerard breaks off when his phone rings, and he fumbles it so hard that the thing drops to the floor. Ryan watches in mild concern as Gerard’s screen shatters to bits on the floor, and watches as Gerard scoops it up anyways and literally cuts his fingers on the broken screen while he tries to accept the call.

Ryan watches as Gerard sucks the blood off his fingers as he lifts his shoulder up and listens to the phone without any hands.

“Now? Yeah? Near the- yeah! Is she coming? Is _ he  _ coming? Oh my god! Innis, right now. I’ll be there so soon! Okay!” He hangs up the phone, bites a bright grin at Ryan, and starts shrugging on his coat. Ryan can’t help but feel a little left out.

“What was that all about?” He asks, can’t help but notice that Gerard doesn’t seem to care that he’s completely shattered his phone screen.

“I get to go bowling with  _ Frank Iero _ .” Gerard says triumphantly, pulling on his gloves. Ryan raises his eyebrows with a very sarcastic look on his face, but Gerard doesn’t notice. 

“You enjoy yourself.” Gerard meets Ryan’s eyes with his own bright ones, and an earnest grin forming on his face.

“Oh, I will.” And with a flamboyant flip of his scarf and the jingle of the door, Gerard is gone.

🝡

Turns out, bowling with Frank Iero is kind of hard work, especially when your thumb is cut open.

Halfway through their game, Jamia is winning by a landslide and Gerard feels like he’s going to faint or puke every time he stands up. His thumb is bleeding all over the place and he’s now realized that the cracked phone screen is a bit of an inconvenience, but Frank has such a nice smile and he’s not being horrible to Gerard, thanks to Gerard’s hard work, so things could really be worse.

Gerard watches Frank as he goes up to bowl, the way he walks, the way the weight of the ball seems to tug him forward, the way he pulls his arm back, the way he crosses his legs after he bowls. God, he’s beautiful. After a while, Lindsey starts bowling for Gerard because he’s so far zoned out, and by midnight, Jamia has won and they’re all going to get nachos somewhere.

Nachos. With Frank Iero.

This night keeps getting better and better. But Gerard sort of falls when he stands up and Lindsey is there, at his side, looking serious because Gerard’s mom gets more mad when it’s Christmas season and he’s been working himself too hard over this anyways.

“Maybe you should go get some sleep.” She says, and it’s true, Gerard hasn’t slept well for a while, but  _ nachos  _ with  _ Frank.  _ Frank who is indifferent to him. Frank who is talking to Jamia and doesn’t notice him. It’s like trying doesn’t even work anymore.

“But-”

“And maybe you should call your mom. We bowl all the time, Gerard.” Gerard doesn’t want to call his mom. Gerard hates his mom. And Gerard’s mom hates him. He lifts up his half blood stained hand in protest.

“It’s just the blood loss, Lindsey, I swear-”

“Go home, Gee.” The hurt must show on his face but Lindsey isn’t budging. “It’ll kill you in the end.” And he knows she’s right about that, if it’s one thing. 

Gerard goes home. 


	2. I Light With Your Light

“And I think she’s really mad about something.” Gerard finishes, yawning at the end of his sentence. Sleep isn’t so important when he’s got facts and figures to discuss with Ray, who is always eager to hear him out. 

“So why don’t you call her?” Ray asks. It’s half one in the morning and they’ve been up talking on the phone for a while, though Ray has assured Gerard that he doesn’t have any important classes tomorrow to be up early for.

“Because she’ll want me to come visit. And it’s horrible visiting this time of year.” Gerard complains. Ray listens quietly, deep in thought. “And after Mikey…” Gerard trails, doesn’t want to think about Mikey. 

“Do you think it’s about Frank?” Ray asks, and honestly, Gerard hasn’t considered this. 

“God, Ray, it might be.” Gerard sits straight up, feeling the blood rush to his head, a revelation blooming in his chest. “Oh god.” He says in a quiet, serious voice that doesn’t come out very often. But half one a.m is serious time, and Ray is very quiet over the line. He realizes that something is wrong. “Ray…” 

“Quarter for your thoughts?” He asks, trying to be funny, knows that Gerard is cheap and Gerard is also coming to some sort of realization that might mean a lot. 

“She doesn’t want me liking a guy. She's pulled this shit before, but not like this.” Is all Gerard says for it all to snap into place in Ray’s mind and he whistles as Gerard groans. “God, this is homophobia to the extreme.” It’s as soon as he says that that he takes on a coughing fit and Ray snickers and says something that Gerard can’t hear over the sound of his own pain. Once it’s over, Gerard’s voice is rough and he’s plain exhausted. 

“You have to call her. Or she’s gonna fuckin’ end up killing you.” Ray advises.

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Ray sighs and Gerard feels like his entire life is a huge, forlorn sigh. This really isn’t good. “I’m gonna sleep.” He says, giving up on trying to think of anything he could do to cure feeling shit because there isn’t, really, she’s made him sick and he’ll stay sick until Frank Iero stops being Frank Iero. 

** 🝡 **

Gerard Way can be found the next day buying up Whole Foods’ entire supply of saltine crackers and unoiled potato chips. Whole Foods because, duh, they’re the only damn store in the entire universe that sells unoiled potato chips. There’s no self service and Gerard has too many items to hit the express line so he goes to a regular cashier and doesn’t meet her eyes as she scans box after box of saltine crackers. He pays with the good money that he could use fixing his phone screen or something productive, and heads back to his dorm with his boxes of dry food in tow. It’s when he’s halfway home, somehow, that he realizes how fucking dumb he is and what he can do to avoid confrontation with his mom.

Caught up between the idea of walking the rest of the way back to his dorm to drop off the boxes of food and going back into the Whole Foods like a weak ass bitch, Gerard stands out in the snow for a good seven minutes before he turns tail and heads back to Whole Foods.

There, he buys things that he really has to think about. Anise, cloves, cinnamon, peppercorns, bay leaves, yarn, white candles, incense, and rosemary. His mom should be proud of his memory. 

It’s a long, miserable walk home. Snow piles up as he walks and even the mere idea of warmth seems so far away from what he’s dealing with, but he keeps his head down and concentrates on his arms not falling off as he slips and slides through the streets of Toronto until he’s back outside his dorm room, trying to open a lock that he can’t even see through all the bags in his arms. 

“Need help?” It’s the pissbaby from across the hall, Brandon, or whatever his name is. He’s wearing one of those ridiculous winter hats that have ear flaps and fur all over them and Gerard looks at him with an expression that’s a mixture of amusement and helplessness.

“Sure.” Brandon takes the key from him, warm hands brush Gerard’s, and pushes open the door for Gerard. And then follows him inside. Gerard dumps all his horrible paper bags on Ray’s bed and then rubs his raw hands, glancing over at Brandon, who has settled himself down on Gerard’s bed. 

“Um.” Gerard says, not daring to sit down because he knows it’ll be an invitation for Brandon to stay. Brandon who kicks the door shut.

“I’m lonely.” He starts, and Gerard hates this. “It sucks, being here and being lonely. I’m from Vegas, you know? And I thought going to school in Canada was a good idea because it’s super cheap but, like, I have no friends here and-”

“Hold up, Brandon.” Gerard says, sneezes, and heads over to turn his radiator all the way up. 

“Brendon.” Brandon says quietly, and Gerard narrows his eyes at him. This kid has the audacity to force his way into Gerard’s room to start whining about his sad and lonely life and then  _ correct  _ Gerard’s speech?

“Excuse me?” Gerard asks, sitting down on Ray’s bed and pushing himself to sit against the wall. The radiator is maybe two feet from the foot of Ray’s bed and all wrapped up in his coat and scarf, Gerard is finally feeling warm. Warm and annoyed, god, what the hell is wrong with this Brandon kid?

“My name is Br _ e _ ndon. Not Brandon.” Brandon,  _ Brendon _ , says. He has a faintly upset look on his face.

“Okay.” Gerard says, rubs his face, and then sighs. “Okay, continue-you’re lonely, so what?” Brendon is untying his shoelaces and Gerard honestly wants to smack him a little bit. 

“Well, the only people I’ve really talked to are, like, people in the passing and your roommate who- for the record- is a bit  _ mean _ , really-”

“Brendon, please. I have things to do. What do you want from me?”

“Advice!” Brendon wails, and Gerard rolls his eyes and starts pulling the ingredients out of his bag.

“What do you want? A friend? A girlfriend? The meaning of life?” Brendon is watching as Gerard overturns the horrible paper bags, flattens them, and dumps them on the floor. 

“What is all that for?” Gerard picks up one of the candles and sniffs it. Smells like nothing and it’s perfect. Gerard moves his supplies to the floor, it’s even warmer down there, and Brendon slides off his bed, shoes off as well, to sit next to him. 

“It’s magic.” Gerard breathes, and pulls a pocket knife out from under Ray’s bed. Flipping out a blade, he begins to carve a rune into one of the candles. 

“I want a boyfriend.” Brendon says, watching the blade carve out a pitchfork-like rune into the side of the first candle. “Can you magically get me a boyfriend? Why are you doing magic? What is that symbol?” And, of course, Gerard starts coughing as soon as Brendon says the word ‘boyfriend.’ His cough comes from deep in his chest and is wet and disgusting and Brendon watches in concern as Gerard coughs and chokes until his throat hurts like a bitch and he can’t exactly breathe. After the fit passes, Gerard sits, feeling weak and almost helpless. 

“I’m trying to protect myself.” He says in a gravelly voice. “Just don’t talk for a while, okay? I’ll tell you when you can.” Brendon makes his pouty face again but Gerard couldn’t care less, and carves his own name beneath the rune and puts the candle on the floor. 

The other candles are placed around the one with his name on it, at the cardinal direction points, and then Gerard picks up his incense sticks, a lighter, and the little bag of salt from inside his nightstand drawer. Brendon watches closely as Gerard trails salt from candle to candle, and sets himself down cross legged behind the southern candle and a particularly big pinch of salt he’s added. Lighting up the incense sticks, Gerard props them off against Brendon’s ugly as all hell dirty, faded yellow Converse high tops. It’s dark in the room with all the lights off and Ray’s homemade Star Wars curtains half drawn against a darkening sky, and Brendon’s face is now serious, lit by the orange of the flickering candles, masked by the smoke burning off the incense. 

Gerard clears his throat and blows out all the candles. Even in the warm room, it suddenly feels cold. Gerard picks the lighter back up and rubs it in his gloved hands. He moves his hand to the candle that’s sat to the east and as he lights it says-

“Powers of Air, hear my call, grant me your protection- that is all I ask for.” Brendon is watching with wide eyes. Gerard lights the southern candle and repeats-

“Powers of Fire, hear my call, grant me your protection- that is all I ask for.” The western candle is referred to as the Powers of Water and the northern candle is the Powers of Earth and just when Brendon thinks Gerard is done, it gets even creepier. 

Gerard’s hands are shaking a bit as he puts down the lighter and his black hair falls out of his face as he turns his head up to look at the popcorn ceiling. His angular face is thrown with odd shadows by the uncertain candle flames, and his eyes are full of a kind of pain that, in the moment, Brendon can’t understand. 

“Powers of High, listen to my plea: may I always be protected by thee.” Then he’s picking up the lighter again and holding his sleeved arm carefully over the southern candle and lighting the one labeled ‘Gerard.’

“Banish my fears. I light with your light, I am guarded, well-protected, and with a shield I rise.” He places the lighter back down and then closes his eyes. Brendon watches his tight facial features go from worry to concentration to calm, and Gerard takes a deep breath which when he releases doesn’t blow out any candles. His hazel eyes are open again and he speaks one last sentence, to Brendon’s relief.

“Air protects me, Fire protects me, Water protects me, Earth protects me. The Gods and Divine protect me. I am whole again, and with my shield I move on.” There’s a very calm quiet in the room where Gerard stares at the candles, and then he stands up. 

“You can talk again.” 

“What the hell was that?” Brendon demands, squinting a bit as Gerard flicks on the overhead lights and crashes back on Ray’s bed amongst the Whole Foods bags.

“A protection spell.” Gerard answers casually, and Brendon picks himself back up to reseat himself on Gerard’s bed.

“Protection from what?”

“Nothing that concerns you. You said you wanted a boyfriend?” Gerard asks, and when he doesn’t automatically feel a coughing fit in his chest, he almost wants to scream in triumph. He’s done it right for once. He’s fucking untouchable. Invincible and living his life to the full until 11:11 when he’ll blow the candles out.

“Protection from  _ what _ ?” Brendon demands, and Gerard realizes that he’s scared. Oh well, it’s not like Gerard had invited him in.

“None of your  _ business,  _ buddy, alright? I’m a damn witch, okay? Now, listen, I know someone else pathetic and lonely who I can try to hook you up with…”

🝡

At 11:11 exactly, Gerard blows out his candles. They’ve been listening to Lenny Kravitz and talking about Canada while Gerard has made himself an herbal protection sachet. Well, really, he’s made two but put the most initial energy into the little one that he’s tied up around his neck in a sort of necklace. 

He also looks a bit gay because there’s a tight necklace string that he switches out with different sorts of gemstones for the right times, he’s usually got a generic clean amethyst on it and it hangs loose under his shirt, but he’s traded it out for a purple and turquoise fluorite gem. It cloaks his energy signature to prevent against sorcery, and he’s tightened the necklace so the gem is visible but now it looks like a choker which would be a little weird except for the fact that Gerard honestly doesn’t care about how gay he looks as long as his mom doesn’t up and indirectly kill him.

Which the cold might do. 

Brendon is trailing him like a lost puppy and Gerard feels like they’re more like sophomores and freshmen in high school rather than in college. Both of them are bundled up in sweaters under hoodies under jackets under coats with added scarves, gloves, hats, and the works. They don’t have to go too far out into the snow at all because Gerard needs the ground, no matter how frozen it may be.

Brendon is holding the little bag of salt and Gerard has the remnants of his 11:11 candles held tightly in his gloved hands. Outside the dorm, there’s a thin layer of snow on the cold ground that has most of the snow blocked off by the roof. Gerard kicks and digs at the dirt until there’s enough of a dip in it for the candle bits to go in. Brendon watches as he replaces the dirt and then sprinkles salt over it. 

They both look at the little pile in solemn silence and head back inside under the same silence, Gerard missing Ray and Brendon really wanting to meet Gerard’s pathetic and lonely friend who he’ll have a future with, well, it’s a nice thought. Having a future. Instead of spending the night sleeping alone in Gerard’s bed because Gerard is in Ray’s bed because Brendon is the definition of desperate and this is just how life is going.

Sleeping alone in someone else’s bed. 

It’s a bad thought.

** 🝡 **

“Yeah, a spell. And a protection satchel.  _ And  _ a gem, of course, yeah. Yeah. I don’t feel like dying anymore.” Gerard is on the phone and it’s the morning and Brendon is waking up in someone else’s bed absolutely covered in sweat and wondering if this is some sort of weird fever dream. Gerard is lying at an odd angle on Ray’s bed with his legs against the wall, feet pointed up towards the ceiling. “I dunno, hopefully long enough for her to realize that she’s a bad fucking person. See- I didn’t even start coughing!” Gerard starts laughing and Brendon watches in wounded loneliness from Gerard’s bed.

He’s still wrapped in coats and sweater from the candle burial the previous night and Gerard doesn’t seem to notice as Brendon gets up and, honestly, starts stripping. When Brendon drops his bundle of coats and hoodies on the floor, he’s left in his unreasonable skinny jeans and long sleeved t shirt that has a hole near the neck and one of the cuffs of the sleeves cut off, Gerard finally cranes his head upside down to see Brendon standing there looking stupid.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go. Yeah. Later. Yup, can’t wait. Alright, see ya. Have fun.” Gerard ends his conversation and rights himself on the bed, right side up with his legs the way that gravity intended them to be. “Sleep well?” He asks, and Brendon shrugs.

“It’s super hot in here.” 

“That’s the point.” Gerard says. There’s a box of saltine crackers open on the dresser that’s in between the heads of Ray and Gerard’s bed, and Gerard stacks a few and puts them in his mouth all at once like some kind of badass. He stretches, cracks his back, neck, knuckles, and elbows, and then grins at Brendon. “I’m going to take a goddamned shower and then I’m going to see if your future boyfriend is around, okay?”

“Okay.” Gerard gathers his things and then disappears and Brendon gets to thinking about how, really, Gerard isn’t  _ un _ attractive. He’s got that long black hair and that hot choker, the sly face and the spooky, sort of mysterious personality that’s enhanced by a sharp sense of humor. Maybe fifteen minutes later, Gerard returns, smelling like shampoo and the herbs all tied up around his neck. His hair is damp and he’s dressed in mostly black, which he makes work, he looks hot and dark and then Brendon asks like the complete idiot he is-

“Are you single?” Gerard stares at him in apparent disbelief, eyes wide. At least he’s not laughing.

“Just because we’ve spent one day together doesn’t mean I want to date you. I’m interested in someone else, and besides, I just told you that I have someone in mind for you. Don’t make this awkward, Brendon.” But Gerard doesn’t make it awkward. He slips on ice outside and falls over onto Brendon, taking them both down on their asses on the slick sidewalk outside, laughing in the snow until they realize that the ice hurts. But it’s up again and down the block, laughing and talking in the cold, headed somewhere where Gerard is going to set Brendon up, wow, thank god he made his move with helping Gerard when he did. 

Brendon’s heart sinks a bit when he sees that they’re headed for what looks like a dingy looking BMV. Gerard picks up on Brendon’s worry about the apparent sketchiness of the place.

“He was just here, so I said we could meet him. He’s… interesting.” Gerard looks both ways before jogging across the road, Brendon scrambling behind him, tripping a bit over the curb.

“This isn’t a dupe or anything?” Brendon asks, starting to panic a bit. Gerard is about to abandon him and he’s about to go in and talk to some either hot guy who likes spending his Sunday mornings at BMVs or some creeper who likes spending his Sunday mornings at BMVs. Still, Gerard scoffs. 

“Please, this guy is desperate. Go on in, he’s got this emo long brown hair and probably some eyeliner and is probably wearing some gross Smashing Pumpkins hoodie, believe me. His name’s Ryan, alright?”

“Will you come in?” Brendon pleads, and Gerard does that judgemental eyebrow raise thing. 

“No.” It wasn’t like Brendon was expecting a yes anyways. “Man up Brendon, you’ll get it.” Gerard shoves him gently towards the door and the hand on Brendon’s doesn’t exactly send a shock up Brendon’s body, though it might, and he turns to get one last look at Gerard, smiling at him from the curb, before he opens the doors. 

This could be it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (canadian terminology lesson: bmvs are bookstores in toronto. was trying to keep this shit regional but realized that bmv means bureau of motor vehicles in some states lol)


	3. Sage Smudge

Gerard goes downtown after he rids himself of Brendon because he wants tea. He wants tea from David’s Tea, only the best place for tea in all of Toronto, and he’s got to take the metro to get there which is a waste of coins but oh well, he gets there regardless. It’s not snowing today, it’s just fucking cold as  _ hell,  _ colder than yesterday and painful to exist in. The wind blows at him so hard that he sort of thinks he might collapse or fly across the street and end up splayed across a building, casually, you know, but he keeps his head down and stomps his way over to David’s Tea.

Which, in itself, is a bit awkward because Gerard is sort of a casually talkative person and knows most of the people who work at shops and cafes around campus on first name basis but David’s Tea is a high enough number of blocks away that actual adults work there.

Which, in itself, is also weird to think of. In high school, being in college sounds like being an adult. But once college rolls around, everyone  _ outside  _ of college is an adult. Gerard sure as hell doesn’t feel mature enough to be considered an adult, though he technically is, and he hates being a fake adult who overenthusiastically throws the door open to a fucking  _ tea  _ store only to be disappointed because the only people who work there are bitchy people who aren’t up for conversation. Still.

“Good morning!” Exclaims Gerard with a bright grin at the girl behind the counter. She’s got brown hair that suddenly cuts off in a horrible division line to blonde hair. Worst ombre he’s ever seen. 

“Hi…” The girl says in a dramatically unenthusiastic voice. She’s got her elbows on the counter as she scrolls through her phone, and Gerard almost hates her. When you work in a store there’s got to be something about customer service, right? Like, being nice? Gerard doesn’t know. He stares at the board of tea flavors and listens to the guy sitting at a table by himself talk on the phone.

“Could I have the biggest size you’ve got of Live Wire Lemon?” Gerard asks, and the girl yaws like some kind of capybara and Gerard sort of stares at her, just wanting his damn tea.

“Sure.” She says in a slow voice, slides herself off of the counter and while Gerard sympathizes, he just can’t feel sorry enough. Everyone’s tired but Gerard because this tea is advertised as a  _ stimulant  _ and Gerard is about to get fucking  _ stimulated,  _ what a fantastic idea, and he pays for the massive amount of tea he’s given with a smile on his face.

As he turns around to face the fantastic aesthetics of David’s Tea that just make him feel so  _ happy,  _ the dude who had been on the phone steps in front of him. 

“Hi!” He exclaims, and Gerard beams at him, happy to have someone actually willing to talk to him for once. The guy is small and is wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt. He’s got dark, dark brown hair that looks a bit like it’s been straightened and then teased, and there’s really ridiculous eyeliner smeared around his eyes. Gerard relates a little too hard to this dude, and can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

“Hey.” Gerard says right back at him, wondering when the last time he really properly socialized was. Winter really ruins people’s spirits but Gerard’s always in a good mood so he gulps at his tea and adjusts the protection satchel hanging around his neck. 

“Cool necklace, huh?” This guy exclaims, peering at Gerard’s protection sachet. Gerard touches it and says “thanks” but now eyes this guy a little differently, wondering if he knows something. No, he ends up being just a dippy gay guy. “So not gonna lie, I think you’re really beautiful.” He says and bats his eyes. “I’m Pete, would you like to go out sometime?” Gerard raises his eyebrows at the audacity of this bravery. 

“Yeah, uh.” Gerard scratches at his hair and wonders if it’s really in his best interests to tell the guy, Pete, that he’s not single. The fact is, he is single. He’s just saving himself and purifying his soul so Frank Iero can absolutely ruin him. 

Gerard would be into vore if it involved Frank Iero eating his legs and his hair and killing him. “Sure.” He finally decides on, smiling genuinely at Pete. Gerard is ridiculously flattered by this entire situation and holds out his phone when Pete asks for it. 

“I’ll text you!” Pete says as he walks backwards and wrestles with the door as he leaves with a flashy smile and a wave. When Gerard checks his phone for the contact, he’s not surprised to see that Pete added a bunch of sparkly hearts next to his name. Gerard stands still with his phone in one hand and tea in the other, feeling like some basic bitch from 2015, wondering what the hell just happened. 

To be honest, Gerard’s love life has been struggling since it started. 

His first girlfriend had been in sophomore year of high school. She was a weeaboo with bad skin and buggy glasses- he had been a closeted gay kid who wore skinny jeans and used his mom’s makeup in his spare time. He had stayed with her for all of high school even though she had turned out to be a lesbian and he had turned out to be gay. Neither of them came out to their parents, and they took pictures kissing at prom.

Since then, Gerard had been whoring around Toronto. Wearing slutty outfits to pride, grinding on strangers in dark bars, using magic to dry people’s shoes in class. He’s slept with some people but nights turn into days and he doesn’t keep in contact with them except for casual sex. 

Pete doesn’t seem like he’s immediately trying to get into Gerard’s pants, but he feels kind of ill when he leaves the shop and ventures back into the snowy underworld. He’s supposed to be meeting Lindsey later to dine and dash and then maybe catch a movie, but he’s got a few hours to kill before their plans. 

Truthfully, he could go back to campus and grind out the essay for his ethnographic research methods class that he’s been putting off for over a month, but the thought of it makes him feel sick and depressed, so he resolves to go thrifting to take his mind off of end of term schoolwork. Gerard finds his way to Queen street, which is just south of Chinatown, in a yuppy, rich sort of neighborhood. Despite the cold, it’s a bright Saturday, and plenty of people are moving from shop to shop, wrapped in winter coats. 

Gerard descends into the basement of an overpriced thrift store that labels its clothes as “vintage” and charges too much for them, simply because they’ve been used. The suburbs have better thrift stores with more interesting items and definitely better prices, but downtown doesn’t have space for the warehouse sized stores, so Gerard has to settle for dark basements and boutique sized shops. 

He would usually go shopping with Lindsey, who wears mostly thrifted clothes and has the best fashion taste of anyone that Gerard’s ever met, but she’s busy, like always. Despite his bubbly personality, Gerard doesn’t talk to many people, and feels a little lost without Ray. Brendon’s clinginess had made him feel a little better, like there was more of a purpose to going about his business, but he had gotten rid of Brendon. Otherwise, Gerard’s only other friends are Ryan, who is annoyed by him, Jamia, who he can’t hang out with individually because neither of them can hold a conversation, and Patrick, who he cheated off of for most of their Psych 101 class the previous year. Gerard had been shamelessly obvious about it, but Patrick hadn’t mentioned it until the year ended, and had shyly invited Gerard to join him at a gig later on that week. 

Gerard had been worried about going home over the summer, and had been working on trying to convince Ray to stay on campus with him. After hanging out with Patrick in early summer before classes had ended, Gerard had discovered that he didn’t want to go home as much as Gerard did. The two of them had rented out a dorm room and spent the summer quite happily living together until Patrick came on, rather forcefully, to Gerard one night, which had created an almighty sort of tension between them when Gerard had painfully broken the news that he only thought of Patrick like a friend. Now, they don’t hang out much at all, despite their shared interests. It’s just too awkward. 

Gerard supposes he’s gotten good at letting people down, with Patrick and now the sudden surprise of Brendon’s brave proposition. He supposes that he just has high standards. Gerard knows absolutely nothing about Pete from the tea shop, but his outgoing request of “going out sometime” had wooed Gerard enough to put his number in Pete’s phone, and now he’s stuck in a thrift store, considering his love life. 

He had been mindlessly moving through racks of clothes, hardly bothering to look at any of the things he was touching, but the sensual part of it was nice enough. The musty smell of the basement, the feel of fabrics in his hands, the loud punk music playing over the speakers- it all feels right. Until he feels a painful and sickening cramp in his stomach that seems to completely wipe out his other senses. He leans into a rack of clothes, feeling like he’d rather collapse than hold himself up for any longer with this pain burning into him, but it subsides quickly. 

“Fuck.” He gasps quietly, straightening up, hating his life. The only reasonable explanation for this has to be his godawful mother: the most passive aggressive, evil, unmotherly figure in the entire world. "Jesus fucking christ." Gerard wonders why he’s the one to live in the Great White North, freezing his balls off while his mom lounges in humid, sticky Atlanta- a warm climate designed for people with cold hearts. 

Gerard’s family is complicated and sad and something that he tries not to think about. His younger brother, Mikey, had passed away after Gerard’s senior year of high school, and he had dropped everything in his life to escape the ruin of his death. Running away to Canada to escape an abusive family sounds like something out of a movie, but Gerard had experienced it in real life as he focused on renewing his passport and considered applying for Canadian citizenship just so he would never have to see his mother again. 

Freshman year of university, he had been roomed with Ray Toro, and their friendship remained steadfast. Ray knew some of the situation, but not all of it, and definitely didn’t know about Mikey, and what had happened to him. He knew that Gerard only grew truly serious when his family was mentioned, and that he hadn’t been home since school had started. Still, Gerard’s mom called him around break times, asking after him. But when Gerard ducked her calls and tried to avoid her, she worked her dark magic on him, and he was forced into an uncomfortable discussion with her.

Like today.

It takes a few deep breaths to collect himself, and Gerard leaves the thrift store to reappear onto the cold street, hesitating before checking his badly cracked phone to see a few missed calls from his mom. It’s about a twenty minute walk to campus, and he hopes that their conversation will be over long before he gets back to his dorm. Gerard hesitates for a few minutes, thinking that he’d rather endure more physical pain than undergo the emotional turmoil of calling his mom, but he steels himself as he dials up her number.

Donna Lee picks up right away, and has a definite edge to her voice as she begins the conversation.

“Gerard, I’ve been trying to reach you for the past week.” It’s true, and Gerard feels immature when trying to ignore her, but hates thinking about what she’s done and why she doesn’t deserve to have him in her life.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been busy. End of semester work, you know.” On top of the essays that he’s put off, Gerard is also a TA in his witchcraft and religion class, and sometimes logs research hours to make some extra money to keep him afloat. His mom doesn’t know this because he hasn’t bothered to tell her, but he feels sort of dirty and guilty for letting her pay his tuition when he hates her so much, but still, Canadian schools are cheaper than American ones. He’s recently been thinking about paying her back, when he gets the money for it. He doesn’t want to owe her anything.

“Well, I was wondering where you’d be staying over winter break.” His mom says, cutting to the chase quickly. There’s other things that she could have brought up- Gerard’s infatuation with Frank, Gerard’s being asked out by a random dude at a tea shop, Gerard setting up a freshman who lives down the hall with another guy. All the mistakes that Gerard has made over the past few days haven’t been overlooked by his mother, and he remembers throwing up at midnight, remembers a few minutes ago in the thrift store. Remembers the pain.

“I was going to stay here.” He says calmly, not trying to get into a fight, because a protection sachet can only do so much.

“Well, _I_ was thinking that maybe you could visit this year.” Donna says, which is the exact opposite of Gerard’s plans. If he ever did go home to visit, he would do it only knowing that he could spend some time out of the house. Unfortunately, Gerard doesn’t have any close high school friends that he’d spend time with, and Atlanta isn’t a good city to be bored and lonely in. 

“Sorry, mom, but I think I’m staying here.” Gerard replies with a little more strength in his voice. He’s smart enough not to try to use any magic on her, he had tried it countless times back in high school, only to be punished immediately with powers that he could have never imagined using. Still, he pushes a little bit of persuasion into his voice and can tell that it doesn’t go unnoticed by his mom.

“You’ll regret this.” She says, and Gerard laughs back over the line, infuriating her. His humor always upset her, and by the time he had reached senior year, it had mostly left him. His sense of humor had come back strong when he started a new life over in Toronto, and he has since reverted to the childish reaction of laughing at her when she says something crazy.

“I guess I will, huh? It’s good that Canada has free healthcare, right? I don’t know what you want from me.” Gerard says snappily, regretting every word that he says against her, knowing that they will all come back to bite him in some way, shape, or form. 

“I want you to come visit me.” Donna replies coldly, and Gerard feels dumb, because she’ll stop hurting him if he goes to visit her. So he reserves to be a little stronger.

“Not this year, okay? Maybe next year, if I’m still alive.” And he hangs up. 

🝡

Gerard returns to his dorm feeling upset. He texts Ray, wanting to rant to him, but his roommate is busy out in New York and can’t talk until later that night. Gerard sits in his overheated dorm room with a bad stomachache and wonders if he should cancel his plans with Lindsey. 

His mom’s pettiness has ramped up to new levels, and the only people he can talk to about it are Ray and Lindsey, neither of whom completely understand. Gerard doesn’t want to cancel on Lindsey because he can talk to her about it, but the more he thinks about going out and enjoying himself, the worse he hurts. 

So he decides to work some magic. There’s a drawer in his dresser filled with sticks of white sage, and they fill the room with the aromatic scent as soon as he opens the drawer. He lights the sage as an offering and waves it around the room, hoping that the scent won’t permeate the other dorms. Technically, they’re not supposed to light anything in their dorms, and Gerard already has a generally negative relationship with his RA. 

He moves in a circle, thinking respectful thoughts, and waves the sage around until it burns down. Gerard takes a deep breath and clears his throat before speaking.

“Guardian of the South, power of the heart, grant me the gift of your water medicine, so that I may give my emotions freely and honestly, loving unconditionally.” He thinks briefly of Frank, and bites his lip before turning to the west.

“Guardian of the West, power of the body, grant me the gift of your earth medicine, so that I may hold with my body, enduring challenges with strength and grace.” His stomachache seems to weaken after these words, and he can’t help but feel a little triumphant. 

“Guardian of the North, power of the mind, grant me the gift of your air medicine, so that I may receive with my mind, always open to wisdom and insight.” At this, he thinks about his essays, and says a silent prayer for the procrastination to stop. 

“Guardian of the East, power of the spirit, grant me the gift of your fire medicine, so that I may determine with my spirit, living my life in harmony with the Great spirit. In honor of my ancestors, in honor of the star people, the stone people, the plant people, sages, healers and teachers past, present, and future, and all who dwell herein. In honor of Mother Earth below who sustains me, in honor of Father Sky above us who guides me. In honor of the Great Spirit throughout who has ten thousand names, and is the unnamable one.” Gerard finishes the prayer and releases a low breath.

“Please protect me.” 

🝡

Gerard spends a few hours lounging around in his protective circle, soaking up the magical energy that he had cast around the room. He’s a little nervous about leaving to go out with Lindsey, but tries to overwhelm himself with optimism and positive thoughts, which usually works. When it comes time to leave, Gerard dresses in something a little bit impressive- a dark sweater, his blackest, skinniest jeans, and his brown boots which aren’t necessarily waterproof but make him look official. He shrugs on his winter coat, wraps a scarf around his neck, and pulls his gloves on. 

He takes a quick look in the mirror before he leaves, and is generally satisfied with his appearance. However, his satisfaction disappears when he closes his door behind him only to turn around to see his RA standing down the hall. The RA is named Jordan, a dark haired guy who wears a permanent scowl, and is outside Gerard’s door almost instantly, standing with his arms crossed, staring at Gerard’s closed door. 

“The entire hallway smells like shit.” Jordan announces pointedly, and Gerard frowns at him, taken aback.

“It’s sage, bro, it’s for cleansing the air.” 

“It definitely didn’t cleanse anything, as far as I can tell.” Jordan replies, looking threatening. “You’re not supposed to be burning anything in there, it’s a fire hazard.” Gerard is exhausted, having just performed advanced defensive magic, and can’t be bothered to use persuasive magic on Jordan. 

“Sorry, man, it won’t happen again. I’ll try to clear it out later, but I’m on my way out. Have a good night!” He adds with a bright smile, and rushes off down the hall before Jordan can do anything. Jordan had written him up before for burning an excess amount of candles, which he had spied through their cracked door, and Gerard had been pissed at himself for leaving the door open, and infinitely more pissed at Jordan, whose car had mysteriously stopped working for apparently no reason the following week.

Gerard escapes into the freezing night and heads away from his dorm, towards Lindsey’s off campus house that she shares with four other girls. Neither of them really spend too much time in her house, since she and her roommates don’t exactly get along due to her domineering and hard to handle personality, but rent is cheap and she gets a room to herself, which is enough. She meets Gerard outside the house, dressed in a short skirt despite the weather and the two of them link arms before heading off into the dark, cold night. 


	4. Mullet Wearing Anthropologist

Ray coming back is one of the better things to happen in Gerard’s life. His roommate is giddy with tales from New York City: how rude the people are, how many things take place all at once, and the girl that he met in a bar that he wasn’t allowed to drink at. The girl’s name is Christa, the bar was in the Lower East Side, and Ray tells his story over and over again to Gerard, who listens attentively. Ray is a little younger than Gerard, and will turn twenty one in mid July, but that number holds little weight in Canada, where the drinking age is a blissful eighteen. 

Ray had never been to New York before, and seeing America’s most famous city had been an enlightening experience for him. “L.A. next” is his new mantra, and Gerard smiles and nods, trying to take his mind off of travel. Ray is from Lloydminster, a city that lies directly on the border between Alberta and Saskatchewan. Gerard had visited his home with him once, over the previous winter break, and had been alarmed by the cold and how  _ Canadian  _ everything was. Toronto is a little more developed, and Gerard clings to the city that serves as his new home, a little afraid to end up somewhere in the countryside. He enjoys cities. 

Ray keeps his topics light, excited by the prospect of having a girl in his life, which Gerard rivals with his discussions of Pete, who had asked to meet him that Saturday at a restaurant in the Distillery District. Gerard choses to share this information with Ray rather than update him on the ongoing battle with his mom, which, so far, he’s been winning. Tonight, he and Ray are sat in the Innis cafe, trying to get schoolwork done. 

Gerard is organizing citations for his witchcraft teacher while Ray is creating a study guide to share with his history of rock and roll class. Ryan has given them free tea and both of them are caffeinated and happy to be back in each others’ presence. It’s late at night, and Ryan is keeping the shop open later than it should be so he can make more money than he should be allowed to. He sits surly behind the counter while Ray and Gerard work while talking, jealous of their friendship.

Gerard had since forgotten about setting up Brendon with Ryan, and had warmly greeted the barista when he had arrived with Ray, but hadn’t inquired about their date. If he had asked, Ryan probably wouldn’t have shared many details, but he had enjoyed himself more than he thought possible. Ryan lives a life of quiet loneliness, and had found Brendon charming, albeit a little eager. He’s quietly grateful for Gerard, who he’s been watching all night. Gerard is bright eyed with excitement, apparently wide awake even at an hour close to midnight, and Ryan feels himself attracted to him in a platonic way, wanting to be a friend of his, the way Ray is. Ryan has trouble expressing himself to others and finds himself being uncharacteristically rude to Gerard whenever he’s around, but his bright personality is winning, and Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees another one of Gerard’s people entering the shop.

Frank Iero is what Ryan would consider a study partner, if anything. They both take the same classes required for a psych minor, and often swap notes and assignments with each other. Ryan gets up, clears his throat, and watches Gerard’s eyes flicker up towards the door and land solidly on Frank, looking him up and down hungrily. Gerard, always an oversharer, talks about Frank more than he’s talked about anyone else, and Ryan gets the gist of Gerard’s feelings toward his own friend. 

“Yo.” Frank says plainly, ignoring Gerard, and heading right for Ryan. “I have those notes for you, sorry it’s so late.” He says, dumping his bag on the counter and digging through it for his papers.

“It’s all good.” Ryan replies casually, making awkward eye contact with Gerard over Frank’s shoulder. 

“Here we go.” Frank says, producing a sheaf of papers. “Sorry if the writing’s a bit messy, but I think it should be legible. Just text me if you need a translation.” He laughs, zipping his bag back up. Frank’s only wearing a light jacket, though the collar is turned up, and his cheeks are red from the cold outside. He slings his bag over his shoulder and looks around the shop, eyes barely resting on Gerard, and turns back to Ryan. “How late are you open? I’ve got my show tonight, but there’s some time to kill.” Ryan has never listened to Frank’s late night radio show, and is only aware of it thanks to Gerard. 

“We’re supposed to close at eleven, but I’m closing, so the later we’re open, the more money I make.” Ryan tries to keep his voice light but he’s a bit nervous about a manager finding out that he’s been keeping the cafe open hours longer than it should be just to make more money. “So maybe midnight? Doesn’t really matter.”

“Cool, man.” Frank replies, looking up at the menu posted up on the wall above Ryan’s head. “Can I get, like, a chai?” He asks, and Ryan nods, stepping back towards the machine. He sees Frank pull out his wallet and waves him away.

“It’s on me, don’t stress. It’ll be ready in a few.” 

“Thanks, dude.” Now left without someone to converse with, Frank looks around the cafe and lays eyes on the only other occupants: Gerard and Ray. Gerard glances back up at Frank and makes eye contact with him, smiling his wicked smile.

“What’s up, Frank?” He asks loudly. Ray turns around to look at Frank and gives him a shy wave. Ray and Frank have never spoken to each other, Frank doesn’t even know his name, but still gives him a friendly nod.

“Hey, Gerard. Late night?” 

“Yeah, just trying to get shit done. End of semester grind, y’know?” Gerard leans forwards as he talks, unknowingly engaging Frank in his conversation. “You running the show tonight?” Gerard continues casually, and Frank flushes a bit, pleased that Gerard is that interested in his dumb radio show.

“Yup, I’ll be starting in half an hour.”

“Cool! I’ll be listening.” Frank matches Gerard’s bright smile with his own, and is distracted from his conversation when Ryan calls him back for his chai. Frank thanks him profusely, bids goodbye to Gerard, and leaves the cafe feeling good about himself, thinking about the dark haired boy with the insanely infectious smile. 

🝡

Gerard has a lot on his mind for the rest of the week. He stays up late every night, feverishly finishing essays that he had months to work on, and studying for exams to take in person. Ray works just as hard and thankfully has no distractions to provide, so Gerard is left stretching out his days as long as he can get them, working incredibly hard.

The only issue is, there’s a lot on his mind that isn’t schoolwork. He’s not necessarily  _ worried  _ about his date with Pete, Gerard hardly worries about anything, but he feels a bit guilty about it, like he’s cheating on Frank. Which is a completely unreasonable thing to think about, so Gerard tries to put it to the back of his mind. 

It’s lunch time, and he’s sat in the dining hall, alone, not eating and daydreaming, thinking about Pete and Frank and how much he’d rather go out with Frank, but how excited he is to see Pete again. Gerard doesn’t eat breakfast and had been excited to finally eat something, but after taking the time to craft a perfect panini, he had sat down, opened his laptop to finish editing an essay due in a few hours, and completely lost his train of thought. His laptop is still open and the sandwich is still there, but Gerard’s mind is completely elsewhere. His sense of mental chaos is heightened when a girl from his witchcraft class spots him from across the cafeteria and basically runs over to accost him.

“Gerard! Gerard, I need your help!” This snaps him out of his rather pleasant daze, and he sees a flustered looking freshman running towards him.

“Hey, Cecilia.” He greets as she dumps her bag down on his table, upsetting his sandwich, and sitting down heavily next to him. “What’s up?” 

“Witchcraft,” She groans, pulling out a notebook. “We had this assignment about exorcisms and I just don’t get it, can you walk me through it?” Cecilia is small and mousy, a completely unassuming person, and Gerard had surprised himself by remembering her name. He tries to be a good TA, but can’t help but to feel a little frustrated by her attacking him during his half hour break between classes.

“You know I have office hours, right?” Gerard tries to ask kindly, and Cecilia looks up at him nervously.

“Sorry, Gerard, but the exam is today…” She bites at her lip nervously and Gerard sighs, giving in. The exam  _ is _ today, he’s nearly forgotten, and he inwardly groans at the idea of having to stay up late, grading the classes’s papers. 

“Okay, show me what you have.” He says, giving in, and Cecilia brightens up as she slides her notebook over to him. Gerard walks her through the steps of an exorcism in great detail, watching her pen scratch across the paper as she takes down fast notes. After he finishes, she makes him check over her notes again, and he does politely until his phone buzzes with a notification and he sees what time it is.

“Shit, Cecilia, I’ve got class. Good luck on the exam, okay? See you.” He talks fast and shoves his materials messily into his bag, tucks his laptop under his arm, and grabs his sandwich in his other hand. Cecilia calls “see ya!” after him as he basically runs out of the dining hall, trying to eat his sandwich and take the stairs two at a time. It’s a whole workout to get to the top of the tower, where the printers are, and Gerard shoves his half eaten sandwich in his mouth while typing frantically on his computer, trying to get his essay printed. The chaos stops for a few minutes while the printer hisses and spits, and Gerard chokes down the rest of his sandwich, wishing he had some water, before his essay shoots out of the printer. Gerard checks that all the pages are there, shoves his laptop into his bag, and steels himself for the mini marathon he’s about to run.

He’s about twenty minutes late to his philosophy class, it’s about the ethics of death and dying, and his professor is a batty old woman with no respect for her students. Plus, she’s kind of racist. He still feels rather bad about missing her class, he’s usually generally punctual, and he hurtles across campus, not even feeling the cold, and slides on ice right into the doors of the humanities building. Up two more flights of stairs, down a hallway, and Gerard doesn’t even put the brakes on before throwing open the door of the classroom, panting for breath and clutching a stitch in his side. He’s entered through the side door and heaves out a big breath, attracting the attention of the entire class. Gerard waves at them with a smile and heads across the stage towards his professor, holding out the essay to her.

“Sorry I’m late.” He apologizes, and she just nods at him. The class’s eyes follow him as he climbs up to his seat and takes out his notebook, clearing his throat awkwardly. Class goes on as scheduled and ends sooner than usual, due to Gerard missing about half of it, and he packs up his things and rushes out of the classroom, trying to avoid his professor’s angry eyes. 

Next is witchcraft, a class that Gerard had excelled in the previous year, and had been asked to TA in by his professor. She had been wildly impressed by Gerard’s proficiency in a topic so specific, and had once politely accused him of cheating, to which he had earnestly confessed that he was just fascinated by magic. Which really isn’t the case, it’s hard to be fascinated by something that’s been a generally miserable part of your life since birth, but Gerard had aced the class and accepted the TA job happily, and was even happier to be paid as a research assistant.

This class isn’t very exciting, and Gerard sits at a desk opposite his teacher, both on their computers, doing god knows what. Cecilia had caught Gerard right outside the classroom before they went in and demanded him to go over offensive charms with her, which he had done reluctantly, despite how adept he is when it comes to charms, and now she is marking away at the exam in front of her. Gerard is finishing his essay for book and media studies the next morning, and loses track of time until Professor Henderson stands up and announces that time is up. Exams are hesitantly handed back, and Gerard stays back after all the students leave to be laden down with papers.

“I’ll take, like, two thirds, and you can have the other third.” Professor Henderson says, tucking a lock of her greyish brown hair behind her ear. She’s one of the only professors that Gerard has respect for, and he doesn’t mind doing her work because he knows the topic like the back of his hand, and had taken the same exam last year. “Are you swamped with work?” She continues to ask him, separating the papers.

“Yeah, but I’m on top of it. Just a week left.” Gerard says, honestly, taking the papers that she hands him. Henderson wears her eyeglasses on a string around her neck and pulls them up onto her head. 

“Gerard, you haven’t declared a major yet, have you?” She asks. He shakes his head no, and she peers at him intensely. “Have you thought about anthropology?” Without waiting for an answer, she continues ahead, “There’s a research study program next year, in Guatemala, and I was wondering if you would be interested in going. With my recommendation.” She adds, and Gerard realizes that she’s being very generous, and trying to provide a nice gesture. And trying to send him to Guatemala, of all places.

“Guatemala?” He asks, stupidly. 

“It’s a Global Impact Project, about social justice and ethical consumerism.” She explains, and Gerard feels a little awed. “Just think about it.” Henderson continues, when she realizes that he doesn’t have an answer for her. 

“I will, definitely, thank you.” He stammers, quickly. Henderson gives him a brief, genuine, smile, but then puts her glasses back on and turns back to the exams. 

“Better get started on these. See you next week, Gerard.” She says warmly, and Gerard takes his portion of the papers, shuffling them into place. 

“Thank you, professor. And I’ll get back to you about Guatemala.” He says respectfully, and makes his departure. It’s around three thirty and Gerard heads back towards his dorm, ready to finish his essay. He plans to go over to the library after eating dinner and work on grading the exams farther into the night. The trek back to his dorm is much slower than the sprint over had been, and Gerard sighs in relief once back inside the warmth of his residence hall. 

He climbs the stairs to his second floor room, and walks slowly down the hall. In hindsight, he probably should have moved a little faster, because a familiar voice behind him tests the patience that had been waning all day long.

“Gerard! Hey, Gerard!” Comes the shout behind him, and Gerard has to take a very deep breath before plastering a fake smile on his face and turning around to face Brendon, who’s basically skipping down the hall. His short, dark hair is damp with snow, but his face is happily flushed and he’s smiling. Brendon, usually an annoying and immature character, has never seemed truly happy (to Gerard, at least) and Gerard is pleased to find Brendon’s happiness rubbing off on him. “Thanks so much for setting me up with Ryan, he’s the best, ever, god, I’m totally falling for him and you’re the perfect matchmaker, the best, really, thanks, Gerard.” Brendon gushes, his eyes bright and face red.

“Yeah, of course, man.” Gerard responds casually. “What are friends for?” He adds with a caring smile as Brendon’s grin gets even wider. 

“You really are the best. What are you up to tonight?” Brendon asks, and Gerard is instantly on the defensive. His setting up Ryan with Brendon had been a tactic to get rid of Brendon, and had been working pretty well over the past week.

“Hardcore studying, man, sorry. I’ve got a shit ton of stuff to get done before next week.” Brendon’s face falls, but he seems to understand. He follows Gerard down the hall to their rooms across the hall, but doesn’t impose anymore.

“Good luck with your work!” He chirps as Gerard unlocks his door.

“Thanks.” Gerard mumbles back, closing the door behind him, switching into work mode. 

🝡

Saturday sneaks up on Gerard faster than he could have expected. With more research and hard work than he had time for, he supposes that he could have worked some time enchantments to gain some extra time to prepare, but he wakes up on Saturday at three in the afternoon, having three and a half hours to prepare himself for his date. This incites a sort of panic in the usually cool headed Gerard, who turns his concerns onto Ray.

“What do I do? What do I wear? How do I prepare? What should I talk to him about? Should I do makeup? Is wearing a scarf too gay? How do I get rid of these bags under my eyes? What should I do with my hair?” Ray watches Gerard from his own bed, wary of his friend’s uncharacteristic frenzy.

“Take a shower, first off. You need one, no offense.” Ray starts. This isn’t untrue. With all the stress of exams, being a TA, and apparently being a friend and tutor to all, Gerard had neglected his personal hygiene, and had taken to covering himself with deodorant and putting his greasy, too long hair up into a tiny ponytail to hold over the burden of showering. Gerard has to agree with Ray, and finally washes his hair before returning to his dorm in his typical jeans and a t-shirt, preoccupied with finding an outfit to wear. 

The temperatures are getting even colder as November draws to a close, and Gerard settles for wearing a collared shirt under a sweater, his best skinny jeans, and his gay boots. This outfit is becoming his go-to for looking good in cold weather, but his pale, tired face and long hair have been causing him some grief. 

“Should I cut my hair?” He asks Ray, who has been trying for hours to read his difficult book on music theory, but has been facing constant interruptions. Ray looks up at him with a ponderous expression on his face, genuinely trying to think of some advice for his friend. 

“Yeah, I think so. Do something fun, though, something new.” Ray offers, watching Gerard scowl at himself in the mirror. 

“A mullet, I think.” Ray snorts, but Gerard seems serious, flattening the side of his hair down against his neck. “If I can tease up the top a bit…” Ray becomes concerned as he watches Gerard mess with his hair, before turning back to Ray’s desk. “Where are your scissors?” Ray does some crafting, sometimes, making scarves and curtains and diy-ing stuff, but he’d never thought his craft scissors would end up in Gerard’s hair. 

“Are you sure?” Ray asks a little painstakingly, knowing exactly where his scissors are. “I mean, this is your first date with the dude, and it’s in a few hours…”

“I’m not pressed about it.” Gerard responds flippantly, disorganizing Ray’s desk. “Scissors?” He repeats, looking up at Ray, who gives in with a sigh.

“Second drawer on the right.” Gerard’s face lights up when he finds them, and he flops down on the floor in front of the floor length mirror with them held in his hand. He sticks his tongue out in concentration as he hacks at his hair, and Ray looks away to hide his horror. Gerard falls silent with concentration, and Ray gets about ten good minutes with his book before Gerard sets down the scissors.

“Oh, this looks fantastic! Ray, look!” Ray looks up reluctantly, and is surprised to see that Gerard’s mullet looks okay. Not bad at all, not necessarily, it honestly looks quite _good._

“Nice, man. Huh. You kind of pull it off.”

“I’m gonna dye it.” Gerard exclaims, and Ray realizes that he’s let the mullet slip, but has to protect his friend at some point. 

“That’s a bit excessive, maybe? Don’t you think?” Ray pleads. Ray has never had options when it comes to hair, he had long since given up on trying to tame his afro and has just come to terms with it. Gerard, however, has long dark hair that makes his already pale face whiter than ever. The mullet is styled well though, and fluffy after it’s been washed. 

“It’ll be fine, I have a great idea. Let me concentrate.” Gerard instructs, and Ray rolls his eyes, turning back to his book. Gerard sits in front of the mirror and concentrates. He’s not too good at physical magic, he’s the best at charms, but he sits in front of the mirror and screws up his face, manifesting  _ teal.  _ He thinks about the ocean, about kingfisher birds, about conifer trees and holographic dragonflies and teal apatite, the stone itself, and he imagines all of these things all over his hair, dying it teal, staining his skin, turning it all a marvelous, bright, striking  _ teal _ . Gerard sits and concentrates so hard that he soon develops a headache, and opens his eyes after about ten minutes, out of breath and feeling dizzy.

His hair isn’t teal.

Well, part of it is. His roots are teal, which is impressive, as the roots are often the hardest to get right. Gerard stares at himself, with his teal roots, and runs a finger through the rest of his black hair. Jesus christ.

“Hey, Ray.” He mumbles, a little less excited than he had been with the mullet. “What do you think?” An annoyed Ray glances up from his book with an amused expression on his face. 

“Very creative.” He compliments, and Gerard turns back to the mirror, fluffing up his hair. He had been insecure about the teal roots for a very short moment in time, and smiles with gusto, tilting his chin back with easy confidence. 

“Very creative indeed.” Gerard repeats, smiling. 


	5. Wine Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey..... so i wasn't planning on having this pete x gerard thing really happen but it did, so we are rolling with it. dw, this is a frerard so the frerard WILL happen but there is some plot regarding pete that i must work thru to get there. so just sit tight and enjoy this weird new relationship i've created for the time being

Gerard leaves for his date with Pete at 6:05, assuming it’ll take around twenty five minutes to get across the city and arrive at the restaurant, and relishes in his time on public transport, loving the attention that his ridiculous new hair is drawing to himself.

The Toronto metro, although small, is clean and runs according to schedule, which Gerard is grateful for. Back in Atlanta, there hadn’t really been any trains to take downtown, and most people drove. Gerard had responsibly assumed that learning to drive wasn’t a good plan for him, and had bummed rides from the few friends he had, or simply just didn’t go anywhere. Public busses were a bad idea, and everything was too far away to walk.

This is why Gerard loves cities, and this is also why Gerard never wants to return to Atlanta. His time spent there had been miserable, and he feels immense gratitude at the opportunity he had been given to start over, to begin again. 

Never much of a worrier, Gerard strolls through the snowy streets, wondering what Frank is doing right now. It’s probably not the right thing to be thinking about while on his way to a date with someone who’s not Frank, but there’s nothing he can do to take his mind off of it. To be honest, he’s been a bit slow in warming up to the idea of the date, excited, sure, but still a bit guilty about going out with someone while Frank still exists in his life. Gerard doesn’t know if he’s single or not, but has kept up the assumption that he is just waiting for the right moment to ask Gerard out. Or vice versa.

Gerard drags himself away from his thoughts of Pete as he approaches the address of the restaurant. The distillery district is a hip area in Toronto. Most of the buildings are red brick, and there are small cobblestoned streets crisscrossing the blocks. The whole place looks wonderful in the snow, with cheerful Christmas lights sparkling from storefronts, and fat flakes of snow floating down gently. Gerard finds the restaurant and glances around for Pete outside, but decides it may be too cold, and ducks inside, almost immediately running into him.

“Hey! Sorry, I just got here, I didn’t know where you’d be coming-” Pete starts breathily, looking at Gerard with sparkling eyes.

“Me too, actually.” Gerard says, a little calmer than his date.

“I love your hair! How cool! Did you do it yourself?” Pete asks, reaching a hand out to touch Gerard’s long dark hair. Ordinarily, Gerard would have taken a step back from an essential stranger running their hands though his hair, but he feels an innate attraction to Pete and doesn’t say anything about the hands in his hair.

“Yeah, I cut it impulsively and just, the roots, they were kind of a mistake.” Gerard backtracks in the middle of his sentence, forgetting that he doesn’t know Pete at all, and Pete doesn’t know that Gerard can change his hair color just by thinking about it. 

“Looks so cool.” Pete says again, smiling wide. His smile is infectious. His teeth are perfect, and he has sharp canines, making his face look almost vampiric. The pair of them get a table and descend into easy conversation, going back and forth between telling stories and discussing the city, David’s Tea, the strange, hipster food on the menu, and everything in between. Gerard tells Pete that he’s in university but doesn’t know where he’s going in life, and Pete tells Gerard that he works as a personal support worker, and Gerard doesn’t know what that means but assumes it’s something relatively important. Gerard learns that Pete is twenty two, three years older than Gerard, but he’ll bridge the gap to two years in April. At least, until Pete turns twenty three. 

Pete orders a bottle of wine for the both of them, and Gerard smiles with the knowledge of a heavyweight. It’s probably something to do with magic, since every magical person that Gerard’s ever met has handled their alcohol and drugs much better than mortals, and almost as soon as they start drinking, Pete springs a surprise on Gerard. 

“So, I know it was pretty sudden to ask you out in David’s Tea, like, hardly knowing you, I mean,  _ not  _ knowing you at all.” Pete confesses, and Gerard sort of nods, because he kind of agrees. There was something admirable about Pete telling a complete stranger that he was beautiful, and Gerard feels a bit nervous, wondering if there’s a catch to the connection that they already seem to have developed. “But, I felt you, when you walked in.” Pete looks serious and Gerard wonders what he means.  _ I felt you. “ _ And then I saw your sachet, and I knew.” Gerard remembers that Pete had called the sachet a necklace, which had lowered any suspicion that Gerard might’ve (but didn’t) have about Pete. “So cheers to magic, eh?” Pete asks, lifting his wine glass to the air. 

“Cheers.” Gerard responds quietly, clinking his glass against Pete’s. The two swallow down their shiraz and Gerard suddenly feels the warmth of the three glasses he’s had so far. “So,” Gerard starts off, feeling brave. “So- you are too?” Pete looks at him with less humor and more of a serious expression, his joyful expression melting into one of thoughtful sincerity.

“Yeah.” He replies almost blanky, running a hand back through his hair, which looks rather neater than the last time Gerard had seen it. “I studied in Los Angeles.” He adds, and Gerard’s eyes widen with sudden understanding. 

L.A. is a big city full of crazy people, and those brave magicians who decided to pursue their abilities had created a university to further study and practice their magic. Gerard had never been but had only heard exciting tales of the University of Los Angeles, a school created with a name that mortals would accept as sounding legitimate, without worrying if it actually existed. Like, no, not UCLA, ULA, right? Gerard had fantasized about attending, but his mother had heard none of it. Although Gerard had been raised to embrace the magic in him, Donna disapproved of him learning it in a taught environment. She didn’t respect either of her kids, not the one who wanted to learn magic, and definitely not the one who didn’t want anything to do with the world that he had been born into.

“University of L.A.?” Gerard asks, already knowing the answer, and Pete nods proudly. “What’s it like?” Gerard’s only way of imagining it had sort of been like Hogwarts, which didn’t mesh perfectly, since middle and high school are completely different from university. 

“Like normal college, really, but they teach you practical things too, magical stuff. I’m a healer.” Pete replies simply, and Gerard instantly wants to know everything about him. 

“Epic, wow, so you’re like a magic doctor?” 

“Sure, yeah, you can call it that.” Pete chuckles, looking a bit bashful. “That’s why I was impressed with your sachet, though. That holds some strong magic.” Gerard touches the sachet, smelling the herbs that needed to be refreshed. “Are both your parents…?” Pete says, leaving the end of his question unasked, but Gerard understands it perfectly.

“No, just my mom.” Gerard thinks he’d rather do anything than discuss his family with Pete, and is overcome with relief when their food arrives at just the right time. Sometimes happy coincidences happen, and Gerard is left unclear if it’s because of subconscious magic that he’s worked. He’s learned, over the years, not to worry about it. If good things happen to him then he’s happy to let them continue without taking action. Besides, his life is boring until it gets tragic and then it’s just boring again, so he’d like to forget all about the tragedy and learn about other people. “How did you end up here?” He asks Pete, wanting to know more about his life. The only magical people that Gerard knows are his mom’s friends from home. He and Mikey, his younger brother, would spend hours hanging out with the magic children of his mom’s magic friends, and for a few hours, their shared idiosyncrasy became the thing that brought them together. Gerard never gets a strong feeling for other magical people, and would never have assumed that Pete was one, until he was told about it. 

“Well, L.A. got a bit too crazy, so I headed north. Portland.” Pete says with a daydreamy look in his eyes. Gerard has always wanted to visit Portland, the mecca of stoner hippies, and he thinks about all the magic taking place in the pacific northwest, what with all the beautiful nature around. The farthest west that Gerard has ever been is Lloydminster, Ray’s hometown, which would equal somewhere in the middle of Montana in the U.S. The west coast of the U.S. has always seemed like a dream to Gerard, a faraway land where everything happens the way it should, and when it doesn’t, it’s still an adventure. Nothing is truly boring on the west coast. Life plays like a movie. 

“Wow, is Oregon great?” Gerard ponders, eyes wide. Pete is a smug storyteller, and loves the opportunity that he’s been given to explain his life to his awed date.

“Yeah, for sure, but it’s a totally different vibe from California. People were a bit too radical in Portland, so I tried Vancouver next, but the weather’s really shit up there. Way worse than Portland. But I liked the feel, I liked it a lot, and Canada is much more chill than the U.S., so I tried my luck over here. So far, so good!” Pete says with a smile, and Gerard envies him with a feeling so deep that it makes him a little sad. “Where are you from, originally?” Pete asks, and Gerard’s dreaminess is lost when he thinks of muggy, alien Atlanta. 

“I’m from Atlanta. Georgia. Not great at all.” Gerard mumbles in a voice that matches how he feels about the city that’s supposed to be home to him. Gerard can tell that Pete doesn’t get what he means, about hating a place, but he still nods like he understands. “Not much for me there, anyways, I like it up here a ton more.” Gerard adds on a positive note. It’s true, the opportunities down south really aren’t too great, and he has much more going for him up north. Pete doesn’t push Gerard to talk about home, and their conversation turns away from magic for a while. The hipster food they eat is all completely vegan but still tastes great, and by the time their second bottle of wine is finished, Gerard is convinced that they’ve been there for hours. They split the check instead of arguing about who will pay, and leave the restaurant feeling rather tipsy and giggly. 

The streets look the same as earlier, maybe a little emptier, and maybe the lights shine a little brighter now that Gerard’s had some alcohol in him. Both he and Pete want to keep their hands in their pockets for warmth, so they messily link arms and wander west, towards Old Toronto. 

“You’re up at the university, right?” Pete refers to it as The University, knowing that it’s the big, official one downtown. Gerard had gotten accepted to Ryerson, too, but he felt better going to a more selective school, a little more impressive. 

“Yup.” Gerard replies. “It’s a cool place.” It is cool, really, it’s pretty rad and Gerard feels a twist of excitement in his gut when he thinks about tuning into Frank’s show tonight. 

“So you’re heading back to your dorm, then?” Pete asks in a messy slur of words.

“Hm?” Gerard asks. He doesn’t like having things planned out too far in the future, and had been convinced that he would have just been strolling the streets with Pete until the sun came up, unless other plans presented themselves in an immediate way. 

“Home.” Pete replies simply, gazing up at the CN tower. Gerard follows his eyes, not knowing how to answer. Now that they’ve stopped walking, Gerard doesn’t know how to make this decision. He hates choosing between things, he’d rather just go with the flow, but Pete isn’t going to choose either, so instead they stand side by side in the biting wind, wine drunk and romantically attached. Gerard wonders what home is to Pete. He wonders if he has his own place, or if he lives in an apartment with roommates, if Gerard would meet them if he goes home with Pete, if he forgets about everything else for one night and leaves Ray wondering where he is in the morning. 

“I guess.” Gerard finally mumbles, clutching Pete’s arms tighter as the breeze from Lake Ontario chills them to the bone. They stand like that for a while, frozen in the wind, oddly serious and quiet, before Pete turns his back on the wind and Gerard turns with him, wiping his watering eyes. Pete starts walking again and Gerard follows him mindlessly, staggering a bit, finally realizing the extent of his drunkenness. He wonders how their moods have shifted so drastically so quickly, but he feels a little lost now. It takes a while to realize that Pete is walking him back towards campus, and Gerard relaxes as they pass by familiar places. 

“Well, before you go.” Pete starts, clearing his throat. “I know some other magic people, here, and we have a sort of, group, I guess. We hang out, do stuff, but learn, too. Share things we know, to help each other. And you can join, if you’d like. It’d be cool to have you around.” Pete seems a little nervous about this, for some reason, and Gerard looks at him seriously, with a bit of a frown on his face. Magic isn’t normal for him, and the idea of meeting others who have lived lives like his is enchantingly alluring, and Gerard nods right away, his face brought back to its usual smile.

“That sounds awesome, really. I would love to.” Gerard says in a cheery voice, already excited over something that hadn’t yet developed a concrete plan. They’ve come up on the university, walking by familiar buildings, and passing by Gerard’s favorite Tim Horton’s.

“Great then,” Pete says with relief. “I’ll let you know what’s up, then. This’ll be fun.” 

“For sure.” They walk about a block longer before Gerard says “this is me” and they stop once again, now caught in another awkward situation. As confident and easygoing as Gerard seems, he’s never gotten past the overwhelming horror of the end of a first date, of dropping someone off at home. Pete’s eyes look up Gerard’s residence hall with mild interest. Gerard chews his lip, not sure if this is a ‘kiss’ situation or a ‘bye’ situation. Pete fixes the issue quite rapidly, and leans forward on his tiptoes to kiss Gerard on the lips; softly, nicely.

There are many different classifications of kisses. There’s the tight lipped kiss of beginners, their lips dry against each other, afraid to even wet each others’, and those usually end quickly. Then there’s the overachieving kiss that’s more like a french, with way too much tongue and too little lip. Pete kisses just right, soft but not too hard, and he pulls away after the perfect amount of time, his eyes dark and clear. 

Gerard is blushing badly, his face already pink from the wine, now even redder, but the nighttime hides it, and he hugs the other man impulsively, and then backs away with his face dominated by a lovesick grin.

“Goodnight then, Pete, thanks so much, this has been awesome.” Gerard babbles, ducking his head and messing with his mullet as he smiles. 

“You too, Gerard. I’ll text you.” And Pete smirks wickedly, his face one of friendly kindness, and turns and disappears into the dark streets.

🝡

“Hey,” Ray says from his desk, pulling off his headphones as Gerard stumbles into the room. He had staggered up the stairs and bounced off the walls down the hallway until he arrived at his room and taken about five minutes to find his key, hidden deep somewhere in a coat pocket. Ray had been up facetiming Christa, the girl from New York, and is in a relatively good mood when Gerard arrives back, looking stunned. “What’s up with you?” Ray asks as Gerard sits down on his bed in a zombielike fashion and stares at the wall, his face flushed and his eyes overbright.

“Wow.” Is all he says. Gerard is hardly ever at a loss for words, and Ray surveys him curiously. 

“It went well, huh?” Gerard nods in response and starts to smile, messing unconsciously with his hair again.

“It was fine. Good, great, it went awesome, really. It was pretty awesome. Pete’s so cool, I just want to talk to him forever, and he kissed me and invited me to hang out with his magic friends because he’s magic too! How cool is that?” Gerard says, his sentence picking up speed as he finds his enthusiasm again. 

“Seriously?” Ray asks, surprised to hear that Pete is also magic. He finds himself a bit wary, wondering how Pete had found out about Gerard, wondering what an older guy is doing with his best friend. 

“He could sense me, somehow. I guess I understand.” Gerard muses, but he doesn’t understand, not at all. “Like you can feel it in the air, I guess.” He feels very lightheaded and stupid, and puts his hands over his face again, smiling. He can’t stop smiling. “I think ‘m gonna shower.” Ray concentrates hard on his friend, picking up on his mannerisms, understanding.

“Are you drunk?” Gerard barks out a loud laugh and nods his head up and down before he stops, dizzy.

“I drank a bottle of wine. It's hitting harder than usual.” Ray relaxes, happy it isn’t liquor, which never well agrees with anyone. “Hmm… I was going to do something, I think. Oh! Shower.” Gerard gets back up and sways dangerously before mentally correcting himself and forcing his feet to go one in front of the other, following his directions. He manages to get his clothes and shower supplies together before heading off down the hallway, losing his focus and ending up unsteady in the bathroom.

It’s not too late, a little after midnight, but Gerard usually keeps his showers a quiet affair, especially after hours. Tonight, he doesn’t give a fuck. He sings Fleetwood Mac, Cyndi Lauper, Whitney Houston, and a little ABBA at the top of his lungs to end the concert. To him, there’s really nothing more pleasurable than taking a wine drunk shower and being able to sing to your heart’s content. Still, the hot water and slippery floor has further disoriented him, and Gerard barely makes it back to his dorm consciously. Ray watches in loving amusement as his roommate collapses on his bed, essentially dead to the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eurgh i'm trying to keep this regionalism thing working but i HATE calling the metro the subway. like bitch a subway is a sandwich store. i will always call it the metro unless i'm writing smth taking place in nyc, which this is not. so fuck you toronto it's the metro!!


	6. Every Time

On the last day of class before winter break, Gerard Way is approached by Frank Iero. It’s generally uncharacteristic for Frank to talk to Gerard unprompted, something that hasn’t gone unnoticed by the latter, but when their book and media studies class finishes, Frank puts his hands on Gerard’s desk while Gerard packs away his notes, and feels his heart stop when he sees Frank’s cherry red converse on the floor in front of him.

So Gerard looks up, throwing a grin onto his face, and thinking of something excellent to say, but Frank beats him to it.

“Hey, Gerard, what’s up?” It’s the best combination of words that Gerard has probably ever heard, and his puppy dog eyes make Frank smile bashfully. 

“Doing great, how about yourself?” Gerard asks, standing up. He’s a few inches taller than Frank but doesn’t necessarily look down on him, just looks at him. It’s gotten to the point where Gerard can’t even tell if he’s using his attracting magic around Frank anymore due to how often he’s used it in the past, so it’s hard to say whether Frank approaching him is on his own accord or not.

“Good, um. Well, I got you a pin.” Frank mumbles, cutting right to the chase. “From the radio station, I thought you might like one. As like an early Christmas present, or whatever.” Gerard’s eyes widen as Frank holds out a shitty circular little pin to him, just like the one he has stuck on his bag. It’s black and says 88.3!! PUNK!! in blocky white letters and Gerard loves it, appreciating the gesture more than anything in the whole wide world. 

“Oh, wow, man, thanks so much. I don’t have anything for you, I didn’t know we were doing gift giving.” Gerard jokes, and Frank’s face turns an uncharacteristic red.

“Well, actually...” He starts, but then stammers when their professor gestures maniacally at them, trying to clear them from the room before their next class starts. Frank clears his throat awkwardly and leads the way out into the hallway, where Gerard faces him seriously and Frank tries to get his words out again. “Um… you listened to my last show, right?” Gerard thinks back to when that would be, realizes it’s Saturday night, and nods without missing a beat, blatantly and wordlessly lying to Frank. Gerard had spent Saturday night drunk and giddy, passed out in his bed, thinking about someone else. 

“Yeah, it was a great one.” Gerard adds to the lie, hating himself, but loves seeing Frank’s little smile when his personal show receives a compliment. He’s always humble about it, and that’s just another thing that Gerard loves about him. 

“Well, you know one of the bands I played? PUP?” Frank fidgets when he’s nervous and is pulling at a loose thread in his sweater. 

“Yeah.” Gerard shamelessly lies back to him. “They’re really good.” Jesus christ, he just doesn’t know when to stop. 

“Yeah.” Frank agrees. “Well, actually, I’m sort of putting on a show. Like a DIY sort of thing, except I’m putting it together, I guess. There’ll be a few bands there, but people actually know PUP, so… well, anyways, I was wondering if you would want to come?” Gerard stares at him, having no idea if this is sheer good luck or just his unconscious magic working him a huge favor.

“Yes, absolutely, I’d love to. When is it?” The relief on Frank’s face is obvious, and he quickly keeps talking, though he's not very good at it. Gerard has never had enough conversations with the guy to realize how absolutely incoherent he is when it comes to speaking.

“Sometime in mid-December, I think, over break. I have the lineup set, but we’re just trying to find a venue right now. Toronto doesn’t have the best DIY scene.” 

“I know a place.” Gerard says without hesitation, his overconfidence making him feel a bit dizzy. But the enlightened expression on Frank’s face is enough for Gerard to continue, truthfully, this time. “You know Lindsey, right? Lindsey Ballato?” Frank nods, and Gerard thinks about how typical it is, everyone knowing Lindsey through someone. Frank is best friends with Jamia, who is fuckbuddies with Lindsey, and they all go bowling together sometimes so there- a new and simple social connection formed.

“Well, she hangs out at this place a lot, I guess it’s a venue, they do poetry shit there so there’s a stage and it’s set up for music. It’s called League.” Frank is an attentive listener and looks both thoughtful and pleased with this new information.

“League, huh? Simple.”

“Effective.” Gerard nods, in silent agreement over it. Gerard has been to the venue a few times, mostly for poetry slams but once when he was crossfaded to participate in a trivia tournament. It had been a sticky Toronto summer day and he had been up early, packing away bowl after bowl before Lindsey showed up with some cherry vodka that she poured into his glass of Dr. Pepper without him looking. So Gerard had spent the day smoking, eating edibles, and drinking his now spiked Dr. Pepper. By the time the trivia tournament had started around eight, Gerard could barely see straight, but still ended up with a glass of whiskey in hand. The whole event had culminated with Gerard puking on the floor of the girl’s bathrooms with a stranger holding his hair back for him, because Canadian chivalry, right?

He hasn’t been back to League since, but still has a fond recollection of the night. 

“So does your friend know any of the managers or anything?” Frank is asking, and Gerard tunes back into their conversation. It’s not about him anymore, sadly, it’s about Frank’s gig and League and boring promotional stuff, but as long as he gets to see and speak directly to Frank Iero’s face, he doesn’t have much to complain about.

“Uh, I think she’s good friends with this dude who does sound production who’s tight with a manager, so she can get you hooked up.” Gerard replies, thinking if  _ hooked up  _ was a little too weird of a phrase to use, but ultimately deciding that he doesn’t care. “Actually, I have class with her next, so I can talk to her about it. Do you need an answer by today?” Gerard moves fast, that’s what he does best, and is eager to help Frank as quickly as he can.

“Um, yeah, the earlier, the better, I guess.” Frank is shifting from foot to foot nervously.

“Oh, do you have a class to get to?” Frank jumps, as though surprised that Gerard cares about what he has to do.

“Yeah, actually. Here, let me get your number.” Although Frank is doing this as a means to exit the conversation with Gerard, it’s a sentence that Gerard has played out inside of his head many times, and he finds himself faint with the reality that it’s actually happening. Surprised that he can recall his own phone number under the circumstances, Gerard gives it to Frank and promptly receives a text from him, saying something like “hey, it’s frank.” 

“I’ll let you know what Lindsey says.” Gerard tells Frank as he mentally prepares himself for the end of their conversation. Truthfully, Gerard has never talked to Frank for this long before. They say hi and hey in passing and chat a little when they go bowling, which doesn’t even happen that often, so this interaction has made Gerard’s day, or week, or even month, if it really comes down to it. Plus, Frank had given him a gift. “And thanks, again, for the pin.” Gerard adds and Frank flushes again, nodding awkwardly.

“See you later.” Frank says before turning quickly in his bright red converse and rushing off down the hall. Gerard hopes that he hasn’t made him late, but at the end of the day, he’s late too, and doesn’t really care. His international relations class is in a lecture hall and the professor can barely recognize any of his students, much less remember their names, so it ends up falling to his lowest priority class, especially since all the coursework is just about common sense, not really memorization or true knowledge.

Gerard arrives late, as does Lindsey, and she spots him high in the back of the lecture hall. Since the class is so big and at least half of the students show up on time, their professor seems not to care in the slightest about who attends his classes and pays attention in them, so Gerard and Linsey have a full fledged conversation in the high seats of the lecture hall without once opening their mouths.

They’re sitting right next to each other so texting seems a little modern, and they write out their conversation on a piece of notebook paper. Lindsey is friends with a guy named Evan who knows something about sound production, who knows the managers of the venue and can totally get Frank set up with a gig there. This makes Gerard excited, and he texts Frank right away, taking absolute, thrilling, liberties with being able to text his crush. 

He doesn’t have any more classes after IR and as soon as class ends, they reconvene quickly, happy to finally get their words out. 

“So, what’s his role in this? A promoter? An organizer? Is there a title?” Lindsey asks, fascinated by the whole organization of it. 

“I don’t know, he’s a promoter but he also put it together.” Gerard has relayed Lindsey’s number to Frank and is a little more than let down when his friend starts texting Frank more than him, but it’s only really because Lindsey is relaying her friend Evan’s number to Frank, who is (presumably) relaying the manager’s number to Frank. Gerard hadn’t been invited to help plan it, he had just been invited to the show, and tries to see the light in that, at least.

Much to Gerard’s dismay, Lindsey is going home to Connecticut for break. Last year, Gerard had felt alienated and awkward by being one of the few people he knew staying on campus over winter break, and found himself not knowing how to explain why he was braving the cold Toronto winter alone. He had visited Ray’s family for a bit, over New Years, but he had been alone for the first few weeks. Christmas had been a lonely affair, made marginally better when Gerard had discovered Ryan out in the snow after a trip to the liquor store. They had gotten drunk together, an evening which had cemented their friendship, but Gerard had still felt lonely the next day. He reminds himself to text Ryan later, asking if he’s staying again.

Ray’s parents and brothers are visiting with their grandparents in Mississauga, so Ray is staying on campus with Gerard. It’s a half hour train ride to Mississauga, and Ray had invited Gerard to come spend Christmas with his family, but Gerard still hasn’t decided if he wants to go or not. He feels like it’s imposing, barging in on someone’s family Christmas celebration, but it had been a kind invitation and Gerard still thinks over it nervously, not knowing quite what to do.

Still, this year is different. Pete lives in Toronto so Gerard can always spend time with him, and it seems like Frank is staying on campus too. This makes Gerard feel a little better about Lindsey, his ride or die, going home, and he still gets to spend tomorrow with her. She tells him that she’s planned a gift giving and bowling party with Gerard, Frank, Jamia, and herself. They don’t bowl that often, but when they do, it’s great fun. Gerard has to get gifts for all of them, plus one for Ray, and has planned on going shopping that night for the party tomorrow. 

Lindsey kisses him on both cheeks and then tells him she has to go pack. With a promise to see him tomorrow, Lindsey leaves the way she usually does, loudly and dramatically. Gerard watches her leave with a sinking feeling in his chest. Fuck loneliness. Gerard texts Pete on his way back to the dorm, not wanting to endure the pain of Christmas shopping alone.

🝡

“Is this gonna happen every time?” Gerard hiccups, leaning over the sticky bar. Him and Pete had been out on the town all night long: shopping essentially until they dropped. Gerard loves the spirit of Christmas time, especially in cold places, and spending time on frozen nights under dark lights in Downtown Yonge, surrounded by yuppie Canadians with lots of money. The shopping experience had been painful, as always, but Pete had lessened it to an exponential degree.

Pete looks as messy as always- with badly done eyeliner blending with the dark circles under his eyes to make him look a little undead, but his grin brings all the life back to his prematurely lined face. Pete hadn’t bought anything, claiming to already have all his presents, and patiently listens to Gerard selfishly whine about how much he hates buying things for other people, which is true. There’s something so inherently difficult about spending money on things that you’ll never see again and have no meaning to you. So yes, he’s a terrible person but he’s still being generous, right?

Pete gets him drunk when they’re done. They leave downtown Toronto and end up in a seedy bar where Pete is friends with the bartender, who keeps Gerard’s glass full all night long. He’s been switching liquor all night long, though, because he hates himself, and has comfortably settled onto hard cider by the time he’s wasted.

“Every time what?” Pete replies slowly. He’s watching hockey on a huge TV screen on the wall, his eyes glazed and blurry as the blue jerseys of the Maple Leafs skate around the ice.

“Every time we hang out.”

“Is what gonna happen?” Their conversation is proving to be incredibly circular and Gerard sighs, picking at a groove in the bar. 

“Getting drunk off our asses.” 

“Mm. I like getting drunk.” Pete says, as though that’s enough, and Gerard nods agreeably. This is a different kind of drunk, though, because Gerard feels a bit spinny and Pete is barely talking to him, lost in his own thoughts. “I’m having a party.” Pete spins on his chair to look back at Gerard, his light brown eyes glassy.

“Yeah? Tonight?”

“Nah, New Years. The…” Pete laughs and messes with his hair. “The magicians will be there. Other magicians.” Gerard looks at him skeptically. 

“Magicians?”

“Like me and you.”

“Oh!” Gerard laughs too, never having really thought of himself as a magician. 

The thing about his magic is, no one has ever really explained it. When doing his own research about why he had been born with these abilities, and where they originally stemmed from, he had come up mostly dry. He tries to think about it in relation to Harry Potter, which is everyone else’s go-to when it comes to discussing magic. In that world, there are wizards and then there are ‘muggles’, but it doesn’t work like that in this modern age. You can have immense magical power or just a little bit, depending on who you are and if you’ve become aware of your power. Some people live their whole lives manipulating people with wordless magic and die without ever realizing that they’ve been harboring intense, mysterious energy inside of them. And then there are families, all of whom have been born with the abilities, and have passed down the magic from generation to generation.

Gerard’s dad, from what he knows of him, had been normal. Normal enough to realize that he had gotten himself into a bad thing with Donna Lee Way, champion of insanity, and had split a few years after Mikey had been born. Gerard doesn’t think much about his dad, and doesn’t remember him that much either. He just hadn’t been around. Gerard doesn’t really mind, and has no hard feelings about it. 

Gerard had zoned out, propping himself up on the bar and watching the TV’s flickering lights reflect on the shiny bottles of liquor lining the back of the bar.

“...see the fireworks, I have a viewing spot, it’ll be pretty cold, but it’s Canada, fuck it, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Gerard says, not hearing anything that Pete has been saying. 

“Epic. Do you want to get out of here?” Pete finally sits up straight and stretches. Gerard isn’t sure he can stand up without falling down and he swirls nervously on the bar stool, not certain that his feet will hold him if he sets them down on the ground. Pete stands on his own two feet, though, so Gerard tentatively tries out his legs and half collapses onto Pete, who puts Gerard’s arm around his own shoulders. The pair of them stagger outside into the cold, and Gerard breathes fog.

“I’m wasted.” He announces. It’s very late and the street is quiet, blanketed with snow that’s quickly freezing into ice. Pete is small and warm next to him, something to lean on, and Gerard tightens his arm around him, loving the close contact and company. 

“Mmm, you’re warm.” Pete replies and then kisses him hard. Gerard kisses back, desperate enough to stick his tongue in Pete’s mouth, and Pete moves his hands to Gerard’s face, passionately making out with him, standing on his tiptoes to kiss him beautifully. 

“Jesus.” Gerard says when he finally has to pull away for air. Pete looks blurrier than ever, his eyes overbright and his teeth flashing white with his smile. 

“Wanna get outta the cold?” Pete slurs. Gerard is now standing by himself and the idea of going somewhere, anywhere, sounds nauseating to him. Still, there’s not much else he can do. So he follows Pete through the frozen streets of Toronto. The cold doesn’t bother him because he’s so drunk- he swears there’s steam coming off of his body. Gerard is in no place to gauge the state of other people, and can’t make a valid assessment of where Pete’s at in terms of intoxication. They end up in the entranceway of a pretty shitty apartment complex, but Gerard lives in a dorm room, so he really isn’t one to judge.

“You live here?” Gerard asks distantly, obviously knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” Pete replies in a rough voice. They’re wasted in the elevator, standing in silence and trying not to puke at the jerky movements under their feet. Pete staggers down the hall with Gerard following behind, thinking that he would follow Pete anywhere given the state he’s in. Pete’s apartment is at the end of the hallway, and Gerard finds something to sit down on as soon as he walks inside- the closest thing happening to be the floor. The place isn’t perfectly furnished.

Pete sits down nearby with his back against the wall. His eyes look even more tired now. 

“Well, this is home.” Gerard can’t see much from his position on the floor or through his bleary eyes but isn’t super impressed by the place. There isn’t much furniture, just a couch that’s a few feet away but looks like miles, and a few chairs over in the kitchen. It’s dank and cold, but Gerard is sweaty with alcohol. “Hmm… ‘m gonna take a piss.” Pete mutters eloquently and drags himself to his feet, swaying alarmingly, and wandering off down the hallway. Gerard watches him go, not wanting to be drunk anymore, and not wanting to be with Pete anymore. He feels hot and sick and pukey, but steels his stomach and sits in silence, finding something stationary to focus on. His eyes keep spinning over everything and he’s a little relieved when Pete finally calls out to him.

“Gerard!”

“Mm?” Gerard replies, trying to make his voice loud enough to hear.

“C’mere!” 

“Ugh.” 

“Come!” Pete yells. This leaves Gerard with no choice. He lurches to his feet, using both arms to propel himself down the narrow hallway, and finds Pete in the one bedroom, lying on his back on top of his bed with his shoes on. Gerard flops down next to him without a second thought, wriggling with delight at the softness of the bed underneath him. 

“Ooh, this is nice.” Gerard exhales, not needing a blanket or anything at all. He feels perfect right where he is. “Goodnight.” He mumbles softly, closing his eyes on the view of Pete’s peeling ceiling.

“Nighty night.” Pete responds in a quiet voice. They drift off to sleep next to each other, not touching, but close by, lying on their backs, shoes still on. 


	7. Hungover Party God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to everyone leaving kudos & esp comments, it's much appreciated <3

Gerard wakes up to a killer hangover and twelve missed calls.

He’s completely dressed, still decked out in his winter coat and hat- in fact, the only thing missing from his ensemble is his gloves. Even his shoes are still on. Lindsey, Ray, and for some reason, Brendon had blown up his phone throughout the morning, but Gerard can’t look at the bright electronic screen for too long and instead buries his face in one of Pete’s pillows, almost blinded by his headache and wishing he could think clearly enough to work some magic for the pain.

“Pete?!” He calls out dramatically, needing some coffee to get him back into working order. Lindsey’s party is  _ tonight,  _ jesus christ, and he can’t miss it. 

“What’s up?” Pete’s voice comes from down the hall, and Gerard hears him walk into the room. “Hungover?”

“Extremely.” Gerard groans, curling tighter into the soft pillow, appreciating the tactile coolness of it. Due to his (usually) generally high alcohol tolerance, Gerard doesn’t get hangovers, and when he does, they’re pretty mild and can be cured with a hot shower and a couple iced coffees. Today, the pain is splitting and unbearable, worse than any hangover he’s had before. There’s something off about this one, like he deserves it, somehow. Like this pain is worthwhile.

“Here, oh man.” Pete’s warm, rolling voice comes from the doorway and Gerard feels his weight next to him on the bed. “Sit up, man, come on.”

“Ugghhhh.” Gerard groans out, letting Pete drag him back into a sitting position. He leans heavily on Pete’s shoulder and is overwhelmed by the boozy smell leaking off of him. Pete’s hand tightens on his shoulder and Gerard shivers at the touch before he’s almost knocked flat onto his back by a wave of warm, comforting magic that dulls his headache exponentially. Pete is murmuring some words, rubbing his hand comfortingly on Gerard’s shoulders, and Gerard realizes that this is healing magic. This is what Pete had studied in Los Angeles, and he’s damn good at it.

“Feeling any better?” Pete asks gently. Gerard can finally actually see again, not through a painful blur of red and black, and he clears his dry throat.

“Yeah. Fuck, man, what was that?” Pete gets up now and Gerard wants to cling to him, if only just for the sheer power of his magical energy. 

“A cure for hangovers? I’m a healer, dude, I just learned it.” Pete’s wearing different clothes from yesterday but still looks drunk, and Gerard briefly wonders if he’s already had a drink. “Do you have any crystals?” He asks, stretching widely. Pete’s t-shirt rides up and Gerard sees a tattoo by his waistband.

“Crystals? Yeah, at home… fuck, what time is it?” 

“Uhh… like, threeish. You had some pretty bad negative energy surrounding you, last night, you need to do some more protective shit.” Pete cautions, and Gerard wraps his winter coat around him, none of it actually hitting yet. “Is someone, like, after you? Holding a grudge?”

“Um….” Gerard stares at Pete’s blank wall, noting the lack of decoration. At the moment, his mom and her evil curse on him is the last thing on his mind. “Um, I have a fucking party tonight, jesus. I need to get back to my dorm.” He checks his phone, which is blown up with notifications, and is shocked when he realizes that it isn’t three o’clock, it’s almost four. “Fuck me, Pete, I’ve got to go.” Gerard finally gets off the bed and looks around Pete’s decidedly shitty little bedroom. Gerard is grateful that they had been too drunk to do literally anything the previous night, and he doesn’t even have to look around for his shoes, because they’re still on his feet. He walks down the creaky hall and glances around, seeing the peeling paint, cracked walls, and stained ceilings. Pete sure doesn’t live in luxury. 

His host is standing in the kitchen, stirring a mug of coffee that Gerard assumes is spiked with something a little stronger. 

“You good?”

“Yeah…” Gerard pats down his pockets, making sure he has his wallet and keys and whatnot before he leaves. Surprisingly, it’s all still there. Except- “Fuck! Fuck me, jesus christ, what happened to all my presents?” Pete’s eyes widen in realization. “Jesus fuck, all that fucking goddamn shopping!” Gerard swears. “Did I leave them at the bar?”

“Yeah…” Pete tries to make up some of last night in his mind. “Yeah, you stuck them under the bar, I remember, they were in the way of your feet. It’s okay, man, I’ll call my buddy at the bar and see if they’re still there. Go back to your dorm, I can drop them off.” The fact that Pete is taking charge of this incredibly unsatisfactory situation is intensely relieving to Gerard, who feels as though at least that pressure had been lifted.

“Epic, thanks, I owe you one. I’ve really gotta bounce, but I’ll… um, see you, then.”

“Catch you later.” Pete says from the counter as Gerard finally escapes his creepy, run down apartment. When he wanders into the overbright, snow stained streets, he has absolutely no idea where he is. And his phone is ringing again.

“Hello?” Gerard asks as he nearly jogs down the street, desperate to find a subway station or familiar street sign. 

“Gerard? Where are you?” It’s Ray, his savior, and Gerard wants to collapse with relief at hearing his friend’s voice.

“I have no idea, I went home with Pete last night, he got me wasted. I need to find the subway, I’ll be back soon, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Ray’s response before hanging up and turning to Google maps to further shock him into upset anger. He’s way, way out east, all the way by Brimley- closer to Scarborough than Toronto.

“Fuck!” He shouts to the empty street, looking decidedly like a crackhead, but so fucking mad about this dumbass situation that he can’t keep it together. The nearest subway to him is the end of the line, and about a forty minute ride home, so Gerard nearly runs to the junky Kennedy station. The train ride is sickening. The cars are generally clean, at least, but it seems to move so slow and Gerard is a mental whirlwind of activity. He has so much to do that he can’t, because he’s stuck on the subway, and he feels like he’s been moving so fast the past few weeks, and can’t catch a fucking break.

He changes train lines at Bloor-Yonge, finally back in Toronto city limits, and when he finally gets off at his stop, he sprints the few blocks back to his dorm room. There’s a moment of triumph, like a hero coming home from the war, when Ray looks up as Gerard bursts through the door, sweaty and out of breath. 

“You’re back!” It’s nearly five and Gerard has a million things to do before the party. 

“I am! I need a fucking shower, I have this party and I left all my presents at this bar last night, fuck, I need to charge my phone, hey- can you buy me some coffee? Get yourself something, have my wallet.” Gerard tosses his wallet to Ray who catches it without hesitation, although his eyes are worried. 

“Sure-”

“Something sweet. And iced.”

“It’s freezing out!”

“Trust me, I know.” Gerard unwraps himself from his winter outerwear, grabs his shower things, and leaves the room almost as quickly as he entered, running down the hall to the bathrooms. Taking a shower finally seems to put things in perspective, and everything slows down while Gerard stands under the hot water, taking deep breaths. Showers always feel like he’s standing in a tropical rainstorm and that thought calms him as he soaps up his hair. Some of the water washes away teal, which is surprising, since he hadn’t even used dye on his hair. He wonders how long the magical color will last.

Gerard can’t go long in a shower without singing, and he starts up after he’s calmed down. He does some classic Beatles, dancing around the small cubicle to the music inside his head. Then he feels like he has to sing Come On Eileen because his brain won’t leave it alone, and he finishes off the concert with a very loud, very bad rendition of Sweet Caroline, for reasons he can’t entirely place. It’s five pm on winter break so the bathroom is empty, though Gerard wouldn’t have minded if there had been anyone else in there. He’s been yelled at to shut up before but it hadn’t really gotten him down.

If Gerard had to pick a theme song for his life, it would probably be Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder. Because, honestly, nothing really can break his stride. Not even waking up with the world’s worst hangover, fully dressed in the bed of a strange magician who uses alcohol to keep himself company. 

Still, Pete is a laugh and definitely knows how to have a good time. Always a bright side. Gerard hops out of the shower, wraps himself in a towel, and heads back down the hallway to his room. When he had first started university, he had always left his key in his dorm when he had showered. Most of the time, this had been okay, because Ray usually had been inside and opened the door for Gerard. Some other times, unfortunately, Ray had already been in class, and Gerard would have had to find his RA while still dressed only in his towel and embarrassed himself while annoying the RA to get his door unlocked.

Gerard has learned since then. Ray is still out by the time he gets back into his dorm and he throws some clothes on before calling Lindsey, who is obviously upset with him. 

“I’ve been trying to  _ plan,  _ and you’re the best party planner I know!” Lindsey wails dramatically. Gerard makes his own personal decision to not tell her about his crazy drunken night, and decides that two nights out in a row is fine, it’s whatever, right? He’s nineteen, he can do whatever he wants. 

“Sorry, Linds, I was super busy and my phone died and I slept super late, but I’ll be on time! Don’t stress about that!”

“I’m not, I’m stressed about League.”

“What?” 

“We’re going there after bowling, they’re having a late night rave sort of thing, but I played a big role in it.” Lindsey says this with pride in her voice and Gerard feels miserable. He’ll get drunk one night and trip the next, getting as fucked up as possible. 

“Epic, cool. Don’t worry, Linds, you just called me to reassure you, you know it’ll be fine.” Lindsey laughs over the line, it’s a genuine and bright sound, and Gerard smiles, feeling confident in his own abilities at making people feel better. 

“Alright, well, I guess I do need to get a start on my makeup. See you tonight, Gee! Mwah!” Lindsey hangs up and Gerard sits back on his bed, feeling decidedly normal. Ray comes back a few minutes later with an iced coffee and a maple donut for Gerard, who feels like he could kiss him right then and there.

“You’re the best, Ray.”

“I know.” His friend replies, sitting back down at his desk with his own coffee. “So what happened with Pete?” It’s a normal question that a friend asks, but Gerard doesn’t really want to answer it. He’s talked with Ray about Pete a little bit, and it’s clear that his friend is rightfully suspicious of this new addition to Gerard’s life. Maybe it’s the way that he sniffed out the magic in Gerard and got him drunk and took him home when, in the two years of being best friends with Gerard Way, Ray had never seen him anymore than tipsily buzzed. And then Pete had done it again. Or maybe Ray’s just jealous that there’s someone new in his best friend’s life. 

“Got super drunk, went back to his apartment, passed out. He lives all the way out in fucking Brimley, I don’t even know how we got there.” After speaking these words aloud, Gerard is hit with an unsettling realization that becomes clear on his face.

“What?” Ray asks.

“Nothing. Um.” Gerard clears his throat and moves across his bed to check his phone, which is charging by the window. “Oh, good, Pete’s coming by, I left all the stupid presents I bought at this bar last night and he knows one of the bartenders so he’s bringing them back.”

“Sweet.” Ray responds in a voice that suggests this isn’t very sweet at all. “He’s not coming up, is he?” 

“Umm…” Gerard doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to invite Pete in out of the cold and up to his dorm room. They had left it on weird terms this morning and Gerard still remembers the lonely look of Pete’s apartment- smelling of liquor and freezing cold. “Nah, man, I still have to get ready. He’s having a party on New Years, actually, so I’ll just see him then. Oh, he’s outside now.” Gerard says, face glued to his phone. “I’ll be right back up.” Ray doesn’t get a word in edgewise as Gerard leaves again, always on the move, and rushes down to the door of his building. Pete is standing outside in the snow looking restless, arms full of big glossy shopping bags.

“Hey.” He greets, face red from the cold.

“What’s up?” Gerard replies, feeling awkward. “Thanks so much, man, really.”

“It’s no problem.” Pete says as he hands the bags back to Gerard. There’s an alarming amount of them, more than Gerard remembers, but he takes that in stride (as he takes everything) and tries to shorten his conversation to the best of his god given abilities. 

“Well,” Gerard plays with his hair, trying not to look at sad, drunken Pete. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you at New Years, yeah?” This makes Pete’s oddly serious face a little brighter and he nods with all the confidence necessary.

“Yeah! I’ll text you the details. See ya!” Pete flashes him a peace sign before taking his own leave and Gerard sighs in relief, arms heavy with shopping bags, before turning and rushing back up to his dorm, forgetting how chaotic picking an outfit can be.

🝡

The idea of being fashionably late has always been alluring to Gerard, but he’s always polite enough to force himself into being on time. Tonight, that hasn’t happened. He had had a difficult time picking an outfit, and ended up in something ridiculously layered. It had started with a grungy black and white Zeppelin t-shirt, which had been fine. Then he had added a red button down shirt, just unbuttoned, over it, which looked kind of cool. Then, in a stroke of genius, he added a dark grey oversized denim jacket on top. With his skinny jeans, worn out dark brown captain boots, and mullet, he looks like a sexy emo hipster. 

The pockets of his winter coat are weighed down with crystals thanks to Pete’s knowledgeable advice: a bloodstone, some quartz, a handful of tiny rubies, and a good sized chunk of obsidian, for protection. Buzzing with magical energy and delight at being able to spend the night with Frank, Gerard arrives at the bowling alley only fifteen minutes late, full of apologies and his usual charisma. 

Lindsey, Jamia, and Frank have all got their shoes and lane set up. When Gerard thinks of it, they’re all pretty similar people, physically. The four of them are pale and naturally dark haired, though Lindsey had bleached her hair the previous year and rocked it before growing bored and dying it back to black. Tonight, she wears her long hair in twin braids down her back. Frank’s hair is shaved on the sides but has grown out a few inches, but the unshaven part in the middle is long and hangs in his eyes. Jamia has fringed bangs and a few red streaks in her short black hair, but she’s not very exciting to look at, and Gerard assumes that her personality has won both Frank and Lindsey over, although he’s never had any enlightening conversations with her.

“Hey! Here he finally is!” Lindsey cheers, spotting him from across the alley. Gerard waves as he picks his way over to them, arms full of his gifts and his bowling shoes. 

“What’s up, party people?” Gerard asks loudly, dumping his things onto the small table in front of them. The alley is crowded, it’s an oddly happening place, and Gerard is happy to be surrounded by people, strangers or friends alike. Jamia says hi in her shy little way and then Frank says something. Gerard doesn’t hear him because he’s so physically, emotionally, and mentally attracted to him. Frank is wearing a flannel shirt and smoking a cigarette. The smoking shouldn’t be allowed indoors and the shirt looks so good on him that it should technically be outlawed, too.

And he got his lip pierced.

“Damn, Frank, nice lip ring!” Frank turns an appealing shade of pink at Gerard’s words, and accepts the compliment smoothly, like he always does.

“Thanks, man. I’ve wanted it for a while and now just, well, it felt right.”

“We got ‘em together.” Jamia adds, pointing at her face, where Gerard notices a vertical labret in her lip. He just doesn’t pay much attention to her, and is surprised that she went through with a face piercing, but smiles just as well.

“Sweet, it looks badass! Whose turn is it?” Gerard finally bowls, they’ve been waiting on him, and marks up a decent score. None of them are bad at bowling, though Frank is admittedly the best of the group, and they improve every game. It seems that practice does make perfect. The four of them play a few rounds casually, with Frank finally hitting his stride and rolling a strike. Gerard loves watching him do anything, but he most of all loves watching him bowl.

Frank will pick up his ball from the machine and roll it around in his hands before walking up to the lane. His ball is a swirly dark turquoise one that weighs twelve pounds, and Gerard knows this because Frank uses it every time. Frank will swing his arm back, weighed down a bit by the ball, and then put one foot forward and send the ball rolling, smoothly, with a curve to it. He’ll stay in his lowered position, moving his shoulders unconsciously to try to mimic the ball, and he’ll straighten up once the ball meets the pins. When the ball hits the first pin head on and the rest tumble into the gutter, Frank jumps up and down, like it could be  _ possible  _ for him to be any cuter, and turns around with a big grin on his face.

“Killer! Mark an X for me, Lindsey!” 

“As you wish, Mr. Bowling Expert.” She replies sarcastically, but marks the score for him. Lindsey is in second, close behind Frank in first, with Jamia picking up third and Gerard trailing behind in last. He keeps cutting his fingers on his broken phone screen, and hadn’t thought about how it may impact his bowling. Maybe as a present for himself, he should get the stupid thing fixed. He wonders if Pete can do it by magic, but then puts the thought out of his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about Pete when he’s with Frank. Two separate men for two separate times. 

The night goes on, and Jamia buys them all cheap bad beer from the alley. Gerard doesn’t mind, though, with that low of an alcohol content it won’t even get him buzzed. They bowl, drink, chat, and exchange gifts, relaxing into the atmosphere that they create for themselves. Even Jamia opens up more, rambling excitedly about how she’s getting a piercing apprenticeship and Gerard is surprised and fascinated, having no idea that she was into the piercing scene.

“Do you want to tattoo, too?” He finds himself asking. He’s scared to death of needles and would never get a tattoo or piercing, but Frank has a few that Gerard thinks are incredibly sexy. 

“Yeah.” Jamia says, blushing for no good reason at all. “I draw, sometimes, but I guess we’ll see how the piercing stuff goes before I can tattoo.”

“That’s dope.” Gerard says, leaning back in his chair and slowly drinking his beer. Frank is chewing his lip while watching Lindsey bowl. 

“What are you thinking about doing? In the future?” Jamia asks Gerard. Frank looks over at him with those gorgeous hazel eyes, and put on the spot, Gerard has no idea.

“Oh, I don’t really know. I’m studying anthropology, and stuff, maybe work for a nonprofit or something… I dunno. I might go study, like, ethical consumption type shit in Guatemala next year. I don’t really know.”

“Guatemala?” Frank asks with interest. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“A little. My professor asked me to, I guess we’ll see where it takes me.”

“That’s cool.” Frank says, and he sounds impressed, so Gerard smiles at him and receives one in return. “Oh, by the way, I got a date for the gig. The 28th.” It’s about a week away, but it sounds perfect to Gerard.

“Epic, I’ll be there.” Frank looks relieved and grins broadly, running a hand back through his messy black hair. He just looks so _good,_ so casual in his flannel shirt with the beer bottle in his hand, like he's a handsome hipster born to be beautiful. 

“Cool, man. Thanks for the help getting the venue, it’s been so helpful. We’re promoting now, making posters and stuff.” Lindsey has returned, having rolled a spare, and marks it on the scoreboard before sitting down to their conversation. Jamia stands up for her turn as Gerard leans in towards Frank.

“I’m pretty good at art, actually, if you need any help.” Gerard offers. Yeah, he does digital art on the side like a true renaissance man, and designed some decent posters back for shitty DIY artists back in Atlanta.

“Oh tight, really?” Frank asks, intrigued. Gerard self promotes a bit more until his turn comes around and he bowls badly, actually getting a gutterball for one of his throws. They finish the game, finish their beers, and start packing up when Lindsey slyly mentions the alt-rave going on in the basement of League, which Gerard is still a bit nervous about. Still, if Frank is there, Gerard will follow. He leaves behind the peaceful portion of the night and leaves the alley with his crystals still clinking in the pockets of his coat, wondering where the rest of the evening will take him. 


	8. Dancing (Next To) With Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for drug use (just weed), and some generally depressing sad thoughts & memories near the end

Lady Gaga’s ARTPOP is blasting from League, and Lindsey is singing along before they even get fully inside. She moves differently than the rest of them, hands over her head, chin tilted back- beautiful in ways that Gerard would understand if he were straight. Ways that Jamia understands, with her wide dark eyes, and Gerard watches as Lindsey takes her hand and leads her off into the darkness of the club.

Gerard is left next to Frank, who is shrugging himself out of his jacket, which is way too thin for the freezing winter weather, but looks good on him. Or off of him, either way, because he’s endearingly handsome but looks intimidated in the dark room. There are flashing lights, loud bass, and many bodies of people Gerard has never seen before moving together around the room.

League looks different than he’s ever seen it. The venue is made up of two rooms, the first being the main one that the stairs lead to. There’s a narrow, dimly lit staircase that opens into the big room that’s hardly decorated. That’s all it is, is a huge room. Sometimes there’s a shitty stage set up in the corner and when bands play, amps and PAs are set up, with fold out tables open for merch. Tonight, Gerard is pretty certain that there’s nothing in the room but speakers, and a DJ somewhere in the throng. And lights, of course. There’s dazzling, psychedelic lights keeping the crowd lit in sporadic, dizzying bursts of color.

The other room of the venue is the bar, though Gerard is almost fully certain that they don’t have a liquor license. There’s a couch, a few low tables, a shelf full of board games, and a very worn out pool table crammed in with the shitty bartop. The bar is insulated, so most of the sound from the main room doesn’t leak through, and Gerard remembers sitting drunk on a floral printed couch beside the bar, sweaty and high out of his mind. The best memories. 

Frank looks out of place, jacket folded in his arms, and he flattens himself against the wall as a few more clubgoers stumble down the stairs, laughing with each other and grinning at Gerard and Frank before throwing themselves into the crowd, moving fast. Gerard wants to dance but Lindsey has disappeared and Frank looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. So, fuck it.

“Wanna dance?” Gerard asks casually, gesturing towards the dark room. Frank pales, his skin very white under the pink and green flashing lights.

“I’m way too sober for this.” He replies, clearing his throat and speaking loudly, over the music. So Frank isn’t a dancer. Shame. 

“Want to change that?” Gerard responds, knowing that he’s got nothing on him to get Frank fucked up, but Frank looks at him slyly. 

“I’ve got just the thing.”

🝡

It turns out, Gerard needn’t have asked Frank to get high. Frank had always been planning on getting high.

“I’m a champion pothead,” Frank had told Gerard after four bowls. “I’m always baked on the radio show.” He coughed out after a particularly big hit. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve spent a week sober.” He said as he held out the pipe to Gerard, who had taken it very slowly. Whatever Frank’s strain was had made Gerard feel very slow, but he’s got a high weed tolerance, and keeps up with Frank.

Now, they’re standing outside in the snow, watching the way the flakes look under the orange glow of a streetlamp. The sound of the club pounds away behind them, and Gerard takes another look at Frank, who has one leg bent back against the wall and his chin tilted up, watching the snow come down. Some of the flakes land on his lashes and he blinks them away and Gerard loves him, high enough to want to kiss him and sober enough to know that it’s a bad idea. 

Frank is an anxious person, Gerard has gathered that much about him, and knows that he won’t be the first one to start up the conversation that brings them somewhere else. Anxious people tend to stay in one place, to cling on to the peace of a certain situation because unpredictability won’t work. Mikey had been an anxious person. Gerard puts that thought away and takes charge, not knowing what Frank wants and not being sober enough to take the time to understand.

“It’s fucking freezing out here, let’s go back in, huh?” Gerard wraps his coat tighter around him and thinks that he wouldn’t be whining about the cold if it was summertime, if it was a sticky humid night with crickets chirping and he wouldn’t need to go back in and dance then. But now he’s craving the heat that other bodies will bring and Frank looks hesitant, like he’d rather stand out in the snow and smoke himself out, alone. But he agrees. They walk back down the block, edging around the dark red brick building, and opening the door on the narrow staircase that leads down to the club. A little shakier, a little higher, they re-enter the club and Gerard is immediately hooked on the vibe, not like he was before.

He leaves his coat on a pile in the entryway like everyone else has and barely waits for Frank before he goes in, twisting his hands around himself, dancing dancing dancing. Frank dances, too. The two of them aren’t at the edge of the crowd but aren’t in the middle, where Lindsey surely is, but they end up surrounded by people. Girls with short hair and long, swinging earrings, tripping over their high heels and kissing guys in suit jackets, tank tops, shirtless. Lipstick stains on their faces, hickeys on their necks. Leaving their marks.

Gerard loves to dance. His feet move on the floor, he throws his head back, shakes his ass, twists his arms around- moves. That’s all it is, really: moving. The bass is so loud that it shakes his bones and he laughs out loud, moving over to where Frank is. He looks beautiful. The sparkling lights seem to take turns lighting up his face- first purple, then green, then pink. At one point, his whole face is awash in pink but his lip ring glints blue- like a sapphire, like he’s kissed diamonds and Gerard moves towards him because that’s where he wants to be. Dancing next to Frank.

The weed, admittedly, makes it easier. Alcohol might have been better, because it makes Gerard hot and free and loose but being high makes him tilt his head back towards the ceiling and feel everything that’s happening on many different levels. It’s uncontrolled bliss, and he’s out of breath and sweating but still dancing because he’s having fun, it’s winter break, and he can do whatever he wants. He moves close to Frank, too close, and finally makes contact with him, touching him, dancing  _ with  _ him.

The music is bad, the air smells sweaty and stale, but Gerard feels caught in the neon whirlwind of Frank Iero. Frank laughing, Frank singing, Frank dancing. Frank. 

It doesn’t last long enough. Frank turns away into the darkness while Gerard has his eyes closed. For a moment he’s somewhere else inside of his head, where the lights pattern against his eyelids but can’t make their way in, and for a second he’s in a dark green forest on a warm day. He smells pine, the crack of a fire, hears the buzzing of cicadas and sees the tall green trees swaying easily in the breeze. He’s in the south, in the backcountry, by Tennessee. Sunbeams filter through the trees and Gerard feels peace.

He opens his eyes and he’s alone in a dark club in Toronto in the middle of winter.

Gerard pushes through the crowd to find the door to the bar. It’s a dirty white, same color as the wall, and it’s quite hard to see in the dark room. The only giveaway is the black door knob, and Gerard nearly falls into the bar, needing to get out of the claustrophobic dance scene. Frank is standing in the corner by the pool table, drinking water out of a paper cup. His face is pale but his hazel eyes turn relieved when he sees Gerard stumbling through the door. 

“Hey.” Gerard can’t tell if he said it or if Frank did, but it’s fine. He takes a drink of water and feels how cool it is on his throat and then he wants to go. His thoughts don’t seem to connect to his actions and he doesn’t know if they talk, or anything, he doesn’t know how they escape from the dingy basement but they do. Now, Gerard understands Frank's desire to get out. He’s over dancing. So they’re back in the street not knowing what to do and Gerard feels the need to reach out and take Frank’s hand- like Pete did.

Pete. No fucking way.

Frank starts walking and Gerard follows him, feeling the same way he did with Pete, like he’d follow him anywhere. At least Gerard knows where they’re going, generally, and can assume that he won’t end up in Brimley by the end of this night. By the time they’re back on campus, Gerard wonders if Frank is expecting him to follow. 

“Where are we going?” Gerard finally asks, forcing himself to sober up.

“My place.” Frank is sure of himself and Gerard is thankful for that, because he’s not in the right mindset to be making any decisions- big or small. “Unless…?” Now he’s giving Gerard an option to leave, to bow out of their night. Anxious person.

“Yeah, your place is good.”

“Cool.” Frank lives in a suite dorm across campus from Gerard. After dragging themselves up four flights of stairs, Gerard feels more sober than ever. Back at home, once, he had gotten way too high at a Halloween party senior year. All of his friends had been out of their minds and he had been lying on the floor of his friend’s basement during a thunderstorm. The power had gone out, lightning was flashing outside, and they needed a way home. 

An hour ago, Gerard and two acquaintances had been crouched over a gravity bong in the pouring rain, finding a way to keep the lighter lit. Gerard had used basic magic to keep the fire from going out. They had been soaking wet and getting high, high, higher. Compared to the rest of them, with his magic talent, Gerard had been sober. Designated driver- licenceless. They had told him to sober up and, in a panic, he had started doing sit ups. After forty of them, he had felt pissed off enough to climb behind the wheel of a car he had never driven, not even knowing how to drive, and had made rounds around the Atlanta suburbs like an Uber gone wrong. Gerard doesn’t know how he made it home alive.

Maybe it was his mom, and her magic. Maybe it had been his own.

To this day, his go-to method for sobering up quickly is exercise. The stair climbing up to Frank’s dorm flashes Gerard back to two years ago and he tries to push the thought of his seventeen year old self doing sit ups in a dark room out of his mind. The past won’t leave him alone tonight- especially with the flashback on the dance floor. Following Frank into his dorm brings him back to life, and Gerard is charmed by his dorm. The living room that him and his roommates share has a shitty couch and an even shittier TV, separated by a beat up coffee table.

“It’s not much.” Frank says. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he looks nervous.

“I like it.” Gerard responds, following Frank down the tiny hallway into the corner room where he lives. Gerard hadn’t known what he was expecting but the room is tiny. Frank’s bed is lofted by the window, and there’s a laundry basket, a dresser, a shiny red guitar, and an amp stuffed under the bed. There’s a desk pressed against one wall, and a shelf on the other. Most of the fourth wall is taken up by the door. There’s barely room for the two of them to stand next to each other, and Frank uses the dresser as a leg up onto his bed, where he sits with his legs dangling. 

“Sorry, it’s so fucking small, I hardly have people over here.” 

“It’s all good.” Gerard responds. Now, it’s awkward. He hadn’t known Frank’s room would be so goddamn tiny. He feels shockingly distant. Gerard is usually good at easing up the mood and making conversation, but Frank’s room is making him feel sick and claustrophobic.

“Are you good?” Frank asks from his bed and Gerard sits down in the chair at his desk, wondering if this sickness is once again something to do with his mom. His pockets rattle as a reminder of the crystals inside, and he pulls them out without responding to Frank, passing them back and forth between his fingers. “Yo, are those crystals?” 

“Yeah.” Gerard closes his fist around the obsidian and takes a deep breath, smelling  _ Frank _ , willing the power of the crystal to make him feel a bit better. “God, I’m high.” That’s a lie, he’s not high, he’s just feeling bad. 

“Same, man, you want some food?” Here.” Frank has doubled over to grab some boxes from the shelf underneath his bed, and comes up with a box in each hand- one of Cheez-its and one of Ritz. “Take your pick.” Gerard takes the Cheez-its and Frank settles for the Ritz, stacking a few of them on top of each other and shamelessly eating the whole stack at once. Even with his mouth full of mushy brown crackers, Frank still looks like the sexiest person alive. That thought hurts and Gerard feels a wave of sad misery wash over him. 

He tightens the grip on the obsidian, but even the protective magic from the stone can’t help him. He’s fucked. So he eats the Cheez-its in a calm silence with Frank. But trying to stay quiet and keep his thoughts together isn’t enough, and Gerard is dragged backwards through time- now he’s in a hotel room. He’s been there for two months and he’s ten years old and Mikey is six, still alive, and they’re watching Spiderman on T.V. They’re eating Cheez-its. They haven’t seen their mom in two days, but at their age, it feels like two weeks. Gerard had gone down to the lobby with what little money he had and had bought them a jumbo box of Cheez-its to eat. They eat the neon orange crackers and watch T.V. and try not to think about their mom never coming home and starving to death in a hotel room in Huntsville, Alabama. 

“I’ve gotta go.” Gerard says into the silence and Frank looks at him impassively. Gerard has to remind himself that they’re just friends, nothing more, and there’s nothing keeping him here. Frank isn't offended that he has to leave. “Shit, did anyone text Lindsey? My phone’s dead.”

“I told Jamia we left.” Frank just watches him from up high. He’s kicked his shoes off which makes him look even more like a little kid- feet hanging down from the bed, sleeves of Ritz in his hand, coat lying next to him on his black bedsheets. 

“Cool, man.” Gerard can’t keep his head straight and feels sad, really sad, and needs to get back to his own dorm. He needs to talk to Ray, he needs to talk to  _ Pete,  _ because anything he has with Frank is being ruined by the mind games that his mom keeps playing. It’s ruining his fucking life. “Cool.” He repeats, dropping the obsidian back into his pocket. Earlier in the night he had been so  _ happy.  _ He remembers choosing the crystals to bring with him: murky orange bloodstone to cleanse negativity, brilliant clear quartz to balance his chakras and  _ heal _ , ruby to protect his spiritual vitality, and obsidian. Obsidian for protection. Fat lot of good that did.

He wanders back to his dorm through the snow, alone and depressed. It’s strange, the mental warfare his mom is waging. She’s a mind reader, that’s the thing, and she can feel his feelings, knows what’s on his mind. Gerard isn’t entirely sure what triggers her to drop in on his thoughts, because this doesn’t always happen, and when it does- it’s physical. He’ll lie in bed with a headache threatening to split his brain in two, or he’ll spend the night with his head in a toilet bowl, throwing up his guts. Or he’ll wake up in a cold sweat, spending days willing a fever to break, or he’ll ache so badly that he can’t move. But today, it’s all mental.

Gerard is overcome with flashes of memories that he hasn’t thought about in years. Gym class in freshman year, holding himself up on shaking arms while doing a plank. Winery hopping with his mom and Mikey in the springtime in Virginia, setting up a tent with his friend Joey in Franklin State Forest in Tennessee, seeing the gulf for the first time in a misty town in Mississippi. They hadn’t stayed in one place until high school. Again: gym class at the end of the day, and then sitting on a smelly school bus, going home, in Georgia.

He remembers home- his room, next to Mikey’s. He remembers always knocking on his brother’s door, always  _ remembering  _ to knock instead of just bursting in. Knocking on that door until his fist hurt, trying to throw it down with his shoulder, slamming his side against the door, screaming- “Mikey, open the door! Mikey!”  _ Fuck. _

Gerard is standing out in the snow, shaking, but not from the cold. He doesn’t know where he is, how to get home, what’s happening to him. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know who he is.

🝡

Gerard wakes up in the hospital.

At first, he’s pissed because he can’t afford it. Then he remembers that he lives in Canada, and relaxes only for a moment, because he doesn’t know why he’s in the hospital. 

“Hello?” He calls stupidly, trying to think back on last night. He had gone bowling, clubbing, Frank’s place, and then… he can’t remember. He had had a bad night, that’s for sure, and wonders if he had tried to kill himself, or something. He had been pretty depressed. But surely not  _ that  _ bad, right? Right? A nurse appears in the doorway and looks pleased to see him there, as though she had been expecting him to wander away while she wasn’t looking. 

“Oh, you’re awake!”

“Yeah.” 

“Good, I’ll go get the doctor-”

“Hold on, wait.” Gerard pushes himself up in the bed hating the way the thin hospital gown grates against his skin. “Why am I here? Did I try to kill myself?” The nurse is thin and young, with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. Her roots are brown, though, and overgrown. Her face is exhausted. 

“No.” She frowns, and Gerard feels relief at that. “You were found out in the snow, you were hypothermic.”

“Oh, shit.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” She obviously isn’t hastening to explain herself and Gerard sighs, running a hand back through his hair. The night won’t come back to him. He wants to cry with frustration, wishing that he could recall what had happened. Had he passed out? Had he been drunk? The doctor doesn’t have any answers. It’s apparent that he’s not that important to them, he’s just taking up another bed, and sooner rather than later, Gerard has been given the all-clear to leave. He changes in a tiny hospital bathroom, given his clothes back from last night in a plastic bag, like he’s a prisoner instead of a patient. Skinny jeans, Zeppelin shirt, now adorned with a hospital bracelet. Gerard doesn’t bother with the ridiculous layers. 

He holds the extra shirt and jacket under his arms as he wanders back into the overbright waiting room, wondering who’ll be there. Will Ray be waiting? Lindsey, Frank? Pete? But there’s no one. Gerard feels his heart work inside of his chest and takes a deep breath, knowing that he’s irrationally sad and needs to get his head back into the game. Of course, no one will be there. The hospital doesn’t know his friends, why would they call them? Someone had found him in the snow and called an ambulance and he had gone to the hospital- it’s fine. Everything is fine. 

The day outside is bright and cold, and Gerard zips up his coat against the freezing air. He takes a deep breath, sets his shoulders back, and looks up at the sun. He’s fine. Everything is just fine. 


	9. Ghost in the Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i've put a final chapter count on this. right now i've chalked it up to around 19/20 chapters, but it'll all depend on how much i end up writing so i'm going with 19 for now. but it's def gonna be in that range 
> 
> also cw- this chapter deals with some pretty negative topics like suicidal thoughts, alcoholism, death, and mentions of past abuse. take care while reading

“Hey.” Gerard has returned from the hospital and finds Ray where he always is, sitting at his desk with his huge headphones on, working on music. 

“Hey.” Ray replies. Gerard realizes with alarm that Ray has no idea he spent the night at the hospital. No one knows, and no one cares. This is the sort of thought that Gerard never thinks- he usually doesn’t give a shit about if people care about him or not because he  _ knows  _ he’s loved. He knows this one thing for sure and doesn’t take the time to worry about it but today, standing in his dorm room, he’s surprised that Ray isn’t all over him with worry- asking where he had been, if he was okay, how he had gotten home. But all he gets is a ‘hey’. “How was your night?” Ray continues, sliding his headphones off of his head.

This gives Gerard the opportunity to tell him the truth and it also gives him the opportunity to lie like the devious motherfucker he is. Despite the shock of the day and the depression that he can't seem to shake, Gerard is nothing if not open and truthful. 

“Um, crazy.” He takes off his coat and throws it down on the floor, along with the red button down and the denim jacket. Kicks off his shoes and sits down shakily on his bed, still feeling frozen. Asleep in the snow, all night long. Maybe it would have been better for him to die. “I went to the hospital.” Ray jerks his head up in surprise, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“You did? Are you okay? What happened?” Gerard wonders if he’s thinking about the suicide aspect of it- because he _looks_ fine, like nothing is wrong. If he had walked in and told them to check him in for the night because he’s afraid of what he’ll do if left alone, and they’d taken his shoelaces and sit him down in an empty room and tell to think happy thoughts- what is _wrong_ with him? Why can’t he stop thinking about death, about suicide, about two years ago and Mikey’s funeral? 

“Um.” Gerard replies and realizes that despite the deep breath in the morning sunshine, Toronto still isn't there for him. Something’s _wrong_ with him. There’s just something he can’t shake. “Um, I passed out in the snow and got hypothermia.”

“What the fuck?” Gerard feels like crying.

“I think my mom’s trying to kill me.” He says this quietly and without the usual sarcasm or humor that he would usually impart. “Fuck, Ray.”

“You’re not serious.” Ray has completely taken his headphones off now, and has turned to fully face Gerard, who’d rather not look at him right in the eye. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I was basically sober, so there was no reason for me to pass out. Fuck, I would have called you but my phone was dead, shit, I need to charge it.” Gerard moves across the room to his phone charger while Ray asks him a string of questions that he finds himself unable to answer. No, he hadn’t been drunk, no he hadn’t been high (at least, not  _ that _ high), no he doesn't remember what had happened. No, none of it makes sense.

“But why would she be trying to kill you?” Ray finally ponders, looking truly worried about his friend. 

“Not trying to  _ kill  _ me, necessarily. Just trying to scare me away from stuff she doesn’t want me doing. And I’m not gonna give in.”

“But giving in would fix it?”  _ Yes _ , of course, giving in would fix everything. But Gerard doesn’t see why he has to give in. Giving in would be finding another weeaboo girlfriend, taking business courses, and getting a steady job at some accounting firm back down south- having kids, having a wife, dying his roots back black and forgetting about everything that makes him passionate. Gerard isn’t giving in. His studious silence is enough of an answer for Ray, who regards him very seriously. “What doesn’t she want you doing?”

“Everything. Jesus, she hates Frank. Whenever I’m near him I either get sick or feel like I want to blow my brains out.” Ray flinches, Gerard either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “She’s trying to ruin my fucking life and I don’t- I don’t know what to  _ do. _ ” The problem is, Ray doesn’t know what to do either. He’s supported Gerard since they’ve first met- he’s his day one. Whenever Gerard has a crazy night or gets too stressed or overwhelmed, Ray is there to talk through the problems with him. But today, they’ve reached a level that he just doesn’t understand. Ray isn’t magic, and Ray doesn’t get it. 

This is why Gerard needs to talk to Pete, who’s honestly the last person he wants to see right now. He thinks of Pete’s sad, hopeless eyes and feels a sting of revulsion. They’ve gone on one real date, and had a strange drunken night together, and that’s been all. Yeah, they’ve texted a fair bit, but Pete tastes like hopelessness and Gerard knows that the more involved he gets with him, the worse the outcome will be between the two of them. Besides, even if Gerard can’t remember the end of his night, he still remembers going home with Frank. He remembers the glow of his hazel eyes, the sharp edge of his jaw while he ate his stupid crackers, the way he tilted his head back while exhaling smoke. There’s a comfort that radiates from Frank when  _ he’s _ comfortable, not worried like he was in the club, the way he was sat up on his bed in his closet of a dorm room. Pete doesn’t have that comfort. Pete’s instability.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” Gerard mutters, wanting to get out of the remains of the outfit he had been so proud of last night. Ray watches him go, wordless. But when Gerard returns from the bathroom, Ray knows just what to say.

“Hey, look on the bright side, your mom doesn’t hate me, right?” Gerard rolls his eyes as he throws his clothes into their hamper. “So just stick with me, okay? Come with me for Christmas, Gerard.” Ray is making his invitation clear and known to such an effect that Gerard knows he can’t deny it. “You won’t be intruding, I promise. We want you there.” Gerard sighs heavily and looks at his friend, feeling warm with gratitude.

“Okay.” 

“Good.” Ray holds his eye contact, leaving Gerard to finally break it, looking away and clearing his throat. “Let’s go get pancakes, okay?” This gets Gerard to smile, and he wants to give Ray a big hug and tell him thank you over and over again. 

“Yeah, let’s go get pancakes.” 

🝡

Gerard spends the next week trying to keep his nose clean. He wakes up, spends his days with his nose buried in anthropological texts to get work done for his professor, and goes to sleep. He does research on the trip to Guatemala, stays away from too much caffeine, listens to way too much Belle & Sebastian, facetimes Lindsey, and doesn’t think any gay sinner thoughts. At least, he tries his best not to.

Christmas Eve comes, and Gerard takes the train down to Mississauga with Ray in the evening. The sky is clear for once, and the two sit in silence, side by side on the GO train watching the sun set. Gerard fiddles with some crystals that he had brought with him. These days, he wishes he could bring all of them. It had been a long decision of choosing which to take with him, and he finally decided on six- three for each pocket. There’s blue quartz, red jasper, and moss agate in his left pocket. In the right one: jade, amethyst, and obsidian. He always has obsidian. He plays with the amethyst as they sit on the train, and Ray glances down at his friend’s hands, always active.

“Are you nervous?” Ray asks gently. Gerard knows that he’s been off his game lately. Spending a day with someone else’s family is last on the list of things that would typically get him worried, but these days, he’d rather be alone in the dorm room than forcing himself into a festive mood around the rest of the Toros. 

“I’m fine.” He replies slowly. “Just not really in the Christmas spirit.”

“That’s alright.” They lapse back into silence, and Gerard is glad that the ride only takes about half an hour. They arrive quickly. Gerard hasn’t spent much time in Mississauga but the suburbs are timeless, and he’s a little surprised to find that Ray’s grandparents live in a big McMansion that’s a twenty five minute walk from any store or shop. Ray’s family is much like Ray- friendly, talkative, kind.

Gerard is introduced to his grandparents, his parents, his older brother David, his eldest brother Louis, Louis’s wife Lucie and their two young kids, whose names Gerard forgets almost as soon as they’ve been introduced. Still, his nerves prove unnecessary throughout the night because Ray’s family is completely welcoming to their strange guest. They sit down to dinner and Gerard feels as though he’s moving back into his normal habits- keeping up lively conversation and trying to make as good as an impression as possible, putting on his best charming attitude. His mom doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, for once. She’d raised him under a strict rule and Gerard knows how to behave, at least, he’s been taught that much. 

The only somewhat off-putting issue that comes is when Ray’s mom casually asks about Gerard’s family. She brings it up something like: “Ray says you’re from Atlanta?”

Gerard says: “Yeah, my family lives there.”

Ray’s mom says something like: “Oh, how nice.” She doesn’t ask anything else and Gerard is surprised at his own good fortune, which involves not having to mention his family- a family that consists of him and his mom. And that’s it. He had used to tell people he had a little brother called Mikey, four years younger, and then Mikey had died. Gerard hadn’t changed his story until a year after his death, realizing that it must have been some strange and awful form of coping for him to lie about that to people. So, when prompted, Gerard had replied that he  _ had  _ had a little brother, but he had died. This became too gory and uncomfortable when he moved to college and was asked the question by new friends and acquaintances-  _ any siblings?-  _ and Gerard had moved back to lying, saying no, he was an only child. 

That always hurt worse than any of the other answers. 

Christmas morning hurts too and Gerard wakes up feeling like he has the flu and also, genuinely and severely, like he’d like to take his own life. Him and Ray had slept on the huge couch in the basement that covers one wall and half of the next, with Gerard on a thin bit that he’s fallen off of constantly throughout the night and Ray on the wider bit that makes his feet hang off the end. 

“Merry Christmas!” Ray cheers in a voice that makes Gerard cringe, and he turns over, his body aching horribly, feeling a phantom heaviness in his chest. He can’t bring himself to reply. This is payback, and it hurts so bad. “Gerard?” Gerard groans. Ray stands over him in the willowy darkness of the basement and Gerard moans again. He thinks he’s going to throw up.

“I’m gonna puke.” So Ray comes back with a trash can, right on time- Gerard might note, and Gerard throws up, wondering if he had had too much eggnog the previous night. “Fuck  _ me _ .” He says as he spits into the trash can, hating himself and his life and this situation so badly. He’s sweating badly but feels intensely as though he’s freezing, and Ray watches him shaking on the couch with a familiar feeling of helpless dismay. “She’s given me the fucking flu.”

“You think you should call her?” Ray sits down on the low coffee table in front of the couch and Gerard lies back and stares at the ceiling, feeling waves and waves of depression wash over him to mentally push him deeper into the dark green couch. There’s tears sitting in his eyes. 

“Fuck.” Gerard doesn’t say anything else, just looks at the ceiling for a while. He’s trying to keep his mind blank because images keep flashing momentarily across his vision and it’s sickening, frightening, makes him feel like he’s schizophrenic. He looks over at Ray and suddenly sees a summertime memory of his friend dressed in a ridiculous tie dye tank top with a red bandana holding his afro back, wearing big sunglasses, a drink in his hand, laughing hard. Then, he’s flashed back to current Ray, wearing a dumb Christmas sweater and no glasses and a very worried expression. 

“Are you good? I’ve got to go upstairs, my family…” God, it’s almost like Gerard’s forgotten that he’s lying in Ray’s grandparents’ basement and he’s hit with another sickening memory of his grandparents house in Jefferson, Georgia- his poor senile grandma dressing herself inside out, wearing a bra over her shirt and him having to lead her back inside because kids out on the street were laughing at her,  _ fuck- _

“Go, yeah, go up.” Gerard manages. His throat is tight, but not with vomit this time. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Ray touches his shoulder gently before letting out a loud breath. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“It’s fine.” Gerard mumbles weakly. He doesn’t notice Ray leaving because he’s overcome by another incredibly painful memory- the same one from yesterday- trying to break down Mikey’s bedroom door. He’s back in the humid home in Atlanta, his shoulder aches from throwing it against the door but finally it bursts open and Mikey is lying on his bed like he’s sleeping. And Gerard shouts, won’t shut up, calling his name, shaking him, unable to get the words to stop:  _ wake up, Mikey, wake up, please, Mikey, what’s wrong? Mikey!- _

Then, he’s back in Frank’s dorm. Frank is smoking a cigarette out the window, tapping his ash out on the sill. Gerard is glued to the desk chair and watches the thin lines of Frank’s body, the angles of his collarbones,  _ fuck,  _ and Gerard throws up again, into the trash can in Ray’s grandparent’s basement. It feels like someone is shuffling through all of his thoughts and memories, picking out the good ones, the bad ones, the embarrassing ones, and Gerard wants to scream with frustration. He’s not strong enough for this, not nearly strong enough, and he would tell Ray about what’s happening except it’s literally Christmas morning, it’s the worst day to have a suicidal mental breakdown, and Gerard finally starts crying because it all hurts so bad and he’s so desperate for this all to go away. 

🝡

Brimley is nowhere as cheerful as Mississauga. Mississauga is clean and neat- the streets well ordered and creative decorations light up the streets. Brimley is all dark shades of unfriendly brown and grey. Some houses and apartments have gaudy Christmas lights strung up on their porches or balconies, but half of the lights are burnt out and they take on a nasty yellowish hue, making Gerard feel sick in the streets as the sun dips behind some apartment buildings. 

His escape from the Toros had been a painful experience. First, he had called Pete in tears, begging for his help and Pete had calmed him down almost right away with the magic dripping in his voice, telling Gerard that he understands, that he’s okay. That had made a difference, Gerard supposes. Still, he had been beaded with unpleasant sweat and the shakes as he packed up his backpack and crept up the stairs, claiming that a friend back in Toronto was having an emergency and he needed to go back. He had thanked the family for their hospitality, wished everyone a very merry Christmas, and then had hit the streets, needing to get back to Brimley as soon as possible. 

Three train rides (and three hours) later, Gerard has arrived in the eastern outskirts of Toronto, at the very seedy train station he had been at weeks earlier, back before his mother had up and torn his mental health to shreds. He had been too worried about getting home and recognizing where he even was back then, and Gerard realizes how much worse the neighborhood looks in the darkening light of the early evening. It’s very empty, oddly empty, and Gerard doesn’t know what will be worse: the abandoned streets of the city or Pete’s run down apartment.

Pete, it turns out, is drunk. He opens the door and Gerard looks at him with pity, wondering if it’s him who needs the help, or Pete. The man’s eyes are bloodshot and sad, his face looks tired and lined, and he reeks of liquor. Still, he smiles big with those sharp white teeth of his and gives Gerard a big warm hug.

“Merry Christmas, man! Come in, come in.” Gerard comes in, glad to be out of the cold, and strips off his coat. Pete doesn’t seem to have a coat hanger or even a closet, and he tells Gerard to throw the thing on the floor. The apartment is the same as it had been weeks ago, maybe even worse because there’s no Christmas tree and the whole place smells cold and rotten. “You want something to drink?” Pete asks from the kitchen, where Gerard is sure he’s pouring himself something strong. 

“Uh, sure.” Gerard follows Pete’s voice into the tiny, dimly lit kitchen. There’s bottles everywhere- beer cans in the sink, whiskey on the counter, rum in Pete’s hand. “Not alcohol, though. I can’t get drunk tonight.”

“It’s Christmas!” Pete exclaims, as though he hasn’t been wasted every day this week, and the last one, and the last. Gerard gives him an empty sort of look. “Here, I’ve been mixing tequila into hot chocolate recently, for spirit, you know, and it’s pretty good! A killer new cocktail! I’ll just make you a cup, okay? Just one.” Gerard gives in and Pete goes about making him microwaved hot chocolate while Gerard leans back against the counter. Pete hums some stupid Christmas song to himself under his breath and Gerard wonders if he’ll ever sober up and look at Gerard with a genuinely serious face and actually try to help him.

But that’s selfish. Gerard has been free falling, and maybe Pete had been too, but Pete softens rock bottom with alcohol. Gerard has nothing to break his fall. The microwave beeps and Pete takes their mugs out, pours in a generous amount of tequila, then adds some canned whipped cream on top for good measure. He hands one of the mugs to Gerard, who accepts it with quiet thanks, and keeps the other one for himself. 

“Let’s talk, then, eh?” Pete says, leading them into the only other room in the house besides the bedroom. There’s a very old couch and a low table in front of it, with some plushy cushions on the chair that Pete must use for chairs. Pete sinks onto the couch a little unsteadily, and Gerard sits down next to him. Despite his drunkenness, Pete is incredibly coherent and is acting the same way he does sober. And the hot chocolate is pretty good- Gerard has to admit. 

“So.” Pete says. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Okay.” Gerard finds himself nervous for no good reason at all. Explaining his situation to Pete requires explaining  _ everything,  _ down to painful details like Mikey’s death and his mom’s apparent mission to get rid of him, too. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all night.” Pete replies easily. Kindly. 

“Okay.” Gerard repeats, taking a deep breath, and a swig of the spiked chocolate. “Well. To start from the beginning, I guess, um. Well, maybe I should sum it up first?”

“Gerard.”

“My mom’s trying to kill me through magic.” Gerard has told something along the same lines to Ray, who never seems to fully understand, and it sounds  _ stupid _ , but telling this to Pete requires no prior explanation. The man just raises his eyebrows and Gerard drinks more of his hot chocolate, thinking that maybe it _would_ be a million times easier to tell this while drunk. 

“Do tell.”

“Well.” Pete looks exasperated at Gerard’s inability to speak. “I just don’t know where to  _ start,  _ really.”

“Start anywhere.”

“She killed my brother.” Gerard bursts out, and feels like the biggest weight ever has been lifted from his chest. “She… she, well. Okay. He never wanted to be magic, he always made fun of her, and us, for what we are… what we could do. I think… well, she can read minds, and so can he. I can’t, though. But he was younger, and he was having trouble controlling it. Like he told me once, he would focus on his teacher or a friend or something and he would hear all their thoughts, and it would be awful. He had no control over it and it was like having everyone’s thoughts bombarding him all at once.”

“That’s way powerful.” Pete says seriously, and Gerard feels another wave of overwhelming misery. It’s not his mom’s work, though, it’s just his. He just misses Mikey, because he’s never talked about his death or the circumstances around it. It’s always hurt too much. 

“And Mikey, that’s my brother, he just got so fed up with it. He got really upset at my mom, super pissed with her all the time, and I could tell that things were getting really hard for him. And he never told me, but, I mean, I could tell. He would be in pain, or getting sick, or get really, really sad sometimes. He was trying to reject everything magic and she was hurting him, not physically, just…”

“Magically.” Pete supplies.

“Yeah. I don’t even know how it works, but she was hurting him, and one day they had a huge blowup and a huge fight and he locked himself in his room.” Gerard stops there, wondering if he’ll have one of those flashbacks again and now, he’s not sure if he can handle it. But it doesn’t come. He’s still in Pete’s dingy apartment. “And he died. Doctors… they said it was suicide, that he took something. But I think she worked some sort of poison, man, I don’t know.” Suddenly he’s choked up. Pete says- “I’m sorry.” Gerard doesn’t reply, and downs more of the hot chocolate. 

“She’s always done this. Tried to control us, mentally. And Mikey died, and I couldn’t stay, so I came here. And ever since, she’s been trying to control me by making me sick. If I do something she doesn’t like, I’ll throw up, or get a migraine, or something. But recently, it’s been mental.” Pete doesn’t respond. He’s a good listener. “Whenever I think or do something, I mean, well, stuff regarding my fucking love life, I guess.”

“Like me?” Pete asks. Oh god, this isn’t a conversation that Gerard had been prepared to have. Pete sees it in his eyes, though, but doesn’t react. “Or not me.”

“God, Pete, I didn’t want to be… I just, I can’t do romance with you. You’re great, you’re wonderful, but dating is just… I don’t think we would’ve worked.”

“That’s totally cool _ ,  _ Gerard.” There’s so much good feeling in his voice that Gerard is momentarily convinced that everything  _ is  _ perfectly fine. It's all totally cool. “That’s okay.” Pete reassures.

“I’ve been in love with this guy from the first day I met him, last year, in class.” Gerard rushes out very quickly, feeling rather warm at the thought of Frank. “And last week, we hung out, and I danced with him and went to his dorm and then my mom was like  _ fuck no  _ and on the way home I passed out in the snow and got hypothermia and went to the hospital.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah, right? And ever since then, whenever I think about him, she hits me with this wave of suicidal thoughts so I just want to fucking slit my wrists whenever I think of him. Jesus. She’s been hitting me with flashbacks, too, god.” Suddenly, he’s crying. Pete watches as he wipes his face, embarrassed and not knowing what to do. “And I feel so  _ mad,  _ because it’s like, grow up! She can’t fucking turn me straight, I won’t- I  _ can’t,  _ man, I’m  _ gay  _ and at the end of the day I wish I wasn’t but I  _ love  _ him, I love-” Gerard puts the mug down so he can properly wipe at his eyes, which don’t seem to be getting any dryer. 

“You’re good.” Pete says with soft reassurance.

“I should be able to get with a guy without trying to hang myself afterwards, you know?”

“That’s totally sensible.”

“If I just stopped, with this guy, just stopped seeing him and thinking about him, then I would be fine. But I won’t- I can’t fucking  _ stop,  _ Pete. He’s special.” Gerard thinks about how stupid and sappy this is. “So you can say that Mikey brought his death upon himself, because he was stubborn, but why the fuck should we cater to what she wants? She wants me to be straight, and I won’t be- I  _ can’t  _ be! I can’t be straight, it’s literally impossible, and she can’t understand that, because she thinks I can act like someone else but I can’t. And one day I’ll go too far with Frank, I’m sure I will, and I’ll wake up the next morning and she’ll hit me  _ hard  _ and I’ll kill myself. And I really don’t want to kill myself.” 

“No, I don’t want you to kill yourself.” Pete quietly murmurs. 

“Well.” Gerard sighs heavily. “That’s that.” He feels raw and empty and picks his mug back up, swallowing what’s left in it. Pete watches him from those dark eyes of his, ones that glow gold. Him and Gerard didn’t work out, but if you removed the alcoholic tendencies and the shithole apartment, Pete could be a catch. Pete  _ is  _ a catch, before you see the inner workings of his life. He looks thoughtful, and he worries his lip with his teeth. 

“Well, man, that’s a bitch of a situation. And I’m sorry, about Mikey.” Hearing Pete say his name makes Gerard feel all shivery. “But!” His voice turns oddly cheerful. “I’m happy to say that you’ve come to the right guy about this.” Gerard is all ears. “I think I might have a solution for you.” 


	10. Save My Life (So Mote It Be)

Gerard returns from Pete’s apartment feeling pure and optimistic and better than he has in weeks. This is a very good thing, because Frank’s show is in two days and Gerard is going to try his best to get into his pants. This new attitude has come because Pete had explained to him very seriously that his mom wasn’t going to kill him, or he wasn’t going to kill himself, because Pete was going to save him. _Is_ going to save him. And Gerard’s nineteen, free and young and optimistic, and should very well be able to do whatever the hell he wants with his life. If that means pursuing a gay relationship with another man, then so be it.

Gerard is almost back in his dorm, which will be blessedly empty when he gets there, when the door on the other side of the hall opens and Brendon springs out like a jack in the box.

“Hey!” He exclaims and Gerard jumps in surprise, clutching his chest.

“Jesus, Brendon, you scared me.” 

“How are you? Merry Christmas!” Due to the very dramatic and honestly sad events of the day, Gerard has completely forgotten that it’s still Christmas day. 

“Good, man, how’s your day been?” Gerard indulges in the conversation for fear of looking too rude if he doesn’t. He had shrugged off his coat when he had entered the building, still a little feverish from the morning, and the weight of the hospital bracelet tied to his wrist makes him feel guilty. It's been over a week, and he still hasn't cut it off yet. There's a now-familiar weight to it.

The bracelet is blue and Gerard wonders for the first time about who had found him in the snow. He’s had too much on his mind since he woke up in the beeping bed, over a week ago. Gerard wonders if he had been facedown, if his lips had been blue to match the bracelet. Had his savior recognized him from class, or had it been a stranger, wandering across the campus late at night to find him in the snow? Had they thought he was dead, checked for a pulse? What had gone through their mind when they saw him? All of this presses at Gerard while Brendon babbles about Christmas, and then invites Gerard into his dorm. 

“Uhh… your roommate doesn’t mind?” Gerard asks, dragging himself away from his thoughts and rubbing at the bracelet on his wrist.

“Nah, he’s not here. He’s kind of… he’s sort of  _ weird _ , you know? He’s talked to me, like, once, this whole year. It’s weird. He lives in Detroit, went back down there for break.”

“Oh.”

“Your roommate- Jay? Is he gone?”

“Ray, no, he’s down in Mississauga. He’ll be back tomorrow. Would you rather come to mine?” There's a real safety in his own dorm room, Gerard can kick Brendon out whenever he wants, and the younger boy unsurprisingly takes him up on the offer. There’s something wrong with the way Brendon treats people- he gets way too familiar with them, and he’s thrown himself comfortably on Gerard’s bed almost as soon as they enter. The dorm room is nothing short of a disaster, with Gerard’s clothes, crystals, and candles thrown recklessly about while Ray’s guitars, pedals, amp and assorted books litter his side of the dorm. 

“So how’s your day been?” Brendon asks conversationally from Gerard’s bed. Gerard stands by the door and considers either cleaning up, which will make him not have to talk to Brendon as much, or just throwing his coat down onto the floor and sitting down on Ray’s bed, which will require much less effort. He chooses the second option. 

“Fine.” He lies. Ray’s scissors are on his nightstand, it looks like he’s been busy cutting up photographs for a stupid DIY project, and Gerard snatches them up and slices off the blue hospital bracelet. Brendon watches.

“Is that a hospital bracelet?” He states the obvious as Gerard throws the mangled bracelet in the direction of the trash can. “Were you at the hospital? Are you okay?” Gerard is once again faced with another decision that he doesn’t want to make, and he looks at Brendon with a pitiful expression. 

“I had a crazy night.” Is all Gerard can think to say. This much is true. Brendon watches him with less of a bubbly attitude and in more of a serious, concerned way. Gerard doesn’t like it. He’s had enough bad feelings for the day, and finally makes an attempt to put the disastrous night behind him. “I was just partying, had a little too much to drink. Or a lot, I guess.” He forces a laugh and Brendon only cracks half a smile, wondering if this is how it feels to watch your heroes turn human in front of you.

Gerard would never know, but Brendon finds him to be an example of the perfect person. Brendon is badly jealous of him. Gerard is smart, handsome, dripping with confidence and good humor, like he’s never had an anxious thought before in his life. Everything he says seems so genuine, and even when caught by himself, he’s always kind and friendly, like he’s making sure that karma will never catch up with him. Brendon is well aware that he comes off as the most annoying kid in the world to Gerard, but there’s this excellent energy that radiates from him that Brendon is obsessed with. And seeing Gerard pale faced and talking like a liar has made Brendon more worried than he’d like to be.

“You can’t do magic to fix alcohol poisoning? Any of that witchy stuff?” Brendon jokes and Gerard grins at him with a little more energy in his smile, the way he usually looks. A little more normal, at least. 

“Can’t fix alcohol poisoning, but I do have some magic to do.” Gerard’s magic is another thing that proves fascinating to Brendon. There was something holy about the way he had cast his protective magic on that night months ago. The candles had lit his face in a flickering glow and when Brendon had been instructed to keep his mouth shut, he had. For once. Now, Gerard adopts the same serious and studious mannerisms as he gathers supplies from around the trashed bedroom.

“What do you mean by magic, anyways?” Brendon asks. It’s a question that Gerard had been expecting and has prepared a reply to.

“Wiccan type shit.” Yes, it’s the best he can come up with, but Brendon looks satisfied at this. “Someone’s sending me bad energies,” Gerard continues, not keen on getting into specifics. “So I’ve got to work some more protection stuff.”

“Do I get protected too? From being here?” Brendon can be incredibly dense sometimes, and Gerard frowns at him. 

“Nah, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh.” Gerard is glad when Brendon lapses into thoughtless silence. He has to focus and remember the teachings his mom had given him so many years ago. Pete had cast a spell on him before he left and there’s a temporary feeling of relief that’s stuck with Gerard ever since he’s gotten home. The spell is a temporary one for protection, and Pete had talked through the steps of what to do with surprising clarity for someone with the blood alcohol content as him. And then Pete had given him a small bottle of blessed oil. 

“Be careful with this.” Pete had said with that eerie sincerity. “It’s mad powerful.” The bottle is full of shimmering gold liquid and Gerard feels a tingling under his skin just by holding the bottle. Pete’s magic is so lush and powerful that Gerard thinks he could drown in it, sometimes. He wants a magic like that. 

The first thing to do is a protective cleansing spell, and Gerard gathers the necessary supplies while Brendon hangs off of his bed, dark eyes watchful. 

“Uh, try to keep quiet.” Gerard instructs, but he has a feeling that Brendon is in a mood to behave.

“Gotcha.”

“This is for cleansing.”

“Cool.” Gerard takes a deep breath before filling a small bowl with water from one of Ray’s many plastic water bottles. He sprinkles some salt into it and mixes it around with his fingers, watching the white specks dissolve into the water. He picks up the small glowing bottle of blessed oil and a bundle of sage that he lights with his old Zippo. It’s his mom’s, actually. She used to chainsmoke in the kitchen and fill the bright room with hazy smoke. Sunbeams and cigarette smoke. Gerard pushes all his thoughts of her out of her mind and paces around the room, smudging the corners with water and waving the sage around. He doesn’t think about an RA busting down the door and screaming about burning down the dorm. He thinks about warmth and being shielded. He imagines himself safe.

After he’s smudged the sage all over and touched water to every nick and cranny of the room, Gerard prepares himself for the oil. Creating your own blessed oil is pouring your own magical energy into the substance, and when Gerard spills a little into his hand, he feels a tingling in every limb in his body, like an electric shock, and a dark vision washes over him. It’s nothing tangible, nothing like the flashbacks his mom had imposed on him, but it’s enough. 

Pete’s silhouette glows gold in the darkness, face hidden by shadow, and Gerard sees the man with a vial of oil over his head, a third eye opening and a voice- rough and warm and rolling, just like Pete’s speaking:  _ I ask all that’s good and holy and right and true infuse love and light into this oil and make it right so that I may use it for my magical supplies and anointing magical tools and myself. So mote it be.  _

Gerard exhales and he’s back in his bedroom. The oil glows golden in his palm and he draws a pentacle on the door in the glittery, sticky liquid. It blooms gold, with a vividness that leaves Gerard breathless. The pentacle stays sparkling on the door while Gerard draws a double sided axe underneath it with his index finger. Both of them turn a bright, deep yellow that shines bright enough to light up the entire dorm room before sinking into the doorway as though they had never existed in the first place. 

Gerard hastens to speak before Brendon can say something stupid and assume the ritual is over.

“With the purifying power of water, with the clean breath of air, with the passionate heat of fire, with the grounding energy of earth, I cleanse this space.” The two of them stand in echoing silence. Gerard is facing the door, as white and boring as ever, and Brendon sits up on his bed watching attentively. “That’s all for that.” Gerard turns back to the boy on his bed, who looks fascinated. “Uh, I’ve got another thing to do.”

“Thing?”

“Ritual. We’ll have to… we’ll have to go to the lake. I mean, if you want to come.” Pete had explained this foreign ritual to Gerard, which involves a letter in a bottle. Gerard had laughed at that, asking something stupid- “Like in Pirates of the Caribbean?” but Pete had been acting sober as all hell, justifying that it would work. It will work. Gerard had never felt so reassured. This is something he has to do.

“‘Course I do.” Brendon replies easily and quickly. Gerard wonders, as he has many times, why he’s even inviting Brendon to join. He’s talkative, at least, and friendly, and he’s someone who doesn’t know or really care about all the bad things happening to Gerard. He’s innocent. But his eyes still shine with unspoken awe and they watch as Gerard assembles the things he needs.

“Um.” He looks up at the small pile of supplies on Ray’s bed. “You wouldn’t happen to have a glass bottle, would you? Or a grinder, either? I need both.” Brendon Urie had been raised mormon and has still, to this day, never consumed a drop of alcohol in his life. His roommate, however, is another story. Brendon’s roommate had earned himself the nickname of FSI (fat smelly Indian) around the dorms, though neither Gerard or Ray had heard of him, and is (as Frank Iero would say) a champion stoner. And drinker. Gerard views both drinking and getting high as social activities, because doing them alone leads to bad habits, but he’s very pleased when Brendon returns from across the hall with a massive empty bottle of Bacardi and a worn out looking grinder. 

“He’ll be glad I got rid of the bottle, his closet’s full of them.” Brendon announces in a way that suggests he’s not completely aware that his roommate might have a substance abuse problem. “Are you gonna smoke up?” He asks as Gerard takes the grinder and bottle from him, giving him a quizzical look at the term ‘smoke up’ which is more ‘80s lingo than modern. 

“No, I need these for herbs. My friend told me that a mortar and pestle is, like, what you're supposed to use but honestly…”

“Who has a mortar and pestle?”

“Right? We’re college students, I’ll just grind them.” Gerard opens up his drawer filled with baggies of herbs that Brendon would genuinely believe were weed if he were told that. He sits down and gets to grinding: small frankincense rocks, myrrh gum, oak moss, and iron filings. “Sorry for your friend, he’s gonna have his grinder torn up.”

“He’s just my roommate.” Brendon is quick to reply. He and the FSI don’t know much about each other at all. “And he’s got like, five, better grinders. Don’t worry.” Gerard dumps all the ingredients into the massive empty bottle of Bacardi, dusting his hands off when he’s done. Then he picks up a torn page of notebook paper and scrawls a message on it with a cheap Bic. He’s not doing it right, in all technicalities, he’s supposed to use sheepskin parchment and real black ink, but he’s never been one for tradition. The message reads:

_ I neutralize the power of Donna Lee Way to do me any harm. I ask that this be correct and for the good of all. So mote it be. _

Gerard rolls up the paper before Brendon can get his eager eyes on it and ask something like- “Way? Isn’t that your last name? Is that your  _ mom _ ?” because he’s not going to talk to Brendon about his reasons for all of this. He rolls up the paper, ties it with a hair tie (instead of black thread, like he should) and then stuffs it into the bottle. Brendon says:

“Oh, you’re putting a message in a bottle and then throwing it into the lake! Like Pirates of the Caribbean.” Gerard sighs heavily and Brendon looks a bit defensive. 

“Yeah, sort of. It’s not supposed to reach anyone though. It’s just supposed to... to  _ be.  _ Maybe the Goddess will read it.” Gerard is bullshitting at the moment, knowing not much about Wiccanism or the gods they may worship. Yes, the rituals he’s practicing are deep rooted in Wiccan magic, but Gerard’s own nameless brand of magic takes many detours from Wicca. Still, mormon boy Brendon won’t know either way, and Gerard shakes the dry ingredients around in the bottle before pulling a thin white candle out of the drawer. Brendon is sat cross legged on the bed like a child, biting at the inside of his cheek and watching with guileless interest. The Zippo comes back out and Gerard lights the end of the candle, watching the white wax warm and warp under the heat.

He seals the top of the bottle with candle wax and wonders if there’s any bad juju related to Brendon’s roommate’s empty bottle of rum. Like, if he drank it in a drunken stupor and then threw up blood and cried himself to sleep. Something bad like that. It’s too late now, the note is written and the bottle is sealed. There’s just one step left.

🝡

It’s late at night, maybe eleven or twelve, and HTO Park is deserted. Lake Ontario is black and silent in the nighttime. Gerard and Brendon are wrapped in winter coats and decked out with gloves, scarves, and hats. The bottle of Bacardi, now filled with assorted ingredients and a rolled up piece of paper, is being worried by Gerard’s hands as he keeps passing it back and forth between them. The boys have gone silent as they reach the lake and stare out across the depths, thinking different thoughts.

Gerard is wondering where the bottle will end up. Will it travel down and wash up on the shores of Niagara-on-the-Lake, or will it be discovered on a snowed out beach in New York? Or will it be carried upwards towards Quebec and colder weather, getting frozen under the shallow sheets of ice? Maybe it will sink. It’ll probably sink. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll get into a waterway. Whatever magical forces that move water will play spin the bottle and send it through tributaries and streams- headed up the St. Lawrence River until it reaches open ocean. Past the St. Lawrence gulf, it’ll be picked up by some blessed ocean current that’ll take it right down the coast. Then South- swirling and sailing past Virginia and the Carolinas before it finally reaches its truly desired destination: Georgia.

But there’s no river in Atlanta and Gerard shakes himself out of his thoughts, glancing over at Brendon, who himself is busy thinking about Ryan Ross and the date that he’s planning for New Years. Gerard’s eyes on him cause him to ditch the daydream as well, and Brendon watches as Gerard steps across the dock and faces the lake. Usually, the wind chill would be god awful, but the lake is eerily calm under the moonlight.

Without thought or warning, Gerard pulls his arm back and pitches the bottle as hard as he can into Lake Ontario. Both of them watch it go in silence, and the splash echoes for what seems like miles. Their breath turns to steam in the air in front of them and Gerard wraps his arms around himself for warmth, praying to any god up there, Wiccan or not, that this magic works. Because who knows what will happen if it doesn’t. 


	11. Heart Eyes

December 28th arrives and Gerard feels alight with magic. 

He wonders if this is how it feels to be Pete- buzzing and brimming at every end, full of good feeling and warmth and power. Gerard burns sage twice a day (it appears that bitchy RA Jordan has left for break and whoever took over for him doesn’t give a fuck about who’s burning what in their rooms), and on the day of Frank’s gig, he uses more of Pete’s blessed oil. He feels good and confident and brighter than ever. Brighter than anyone. Even Ray has picked up on the good vibes going around and gets rid of the sensitive schtick he had tried around the time that Gerard had been hospitalized.

Ray’s good like that. When Gerard gets low and his life seems to fall apart around him, Ray is his rock- strong and caring and overwhelmingly  _ present.  _ When Gerard’s high on the good times, Ray is by his side in happiness, joining in and keeping the good feeling going. Gerard tries to act the same for Ray, but his friend’s life is clearly more stable than his own, and Gerard doesn’t often need to truly ‘be there’ for him.

This is why it hurts so badly for Gerard to tell Ray not to come with him to the show. 

“It’s a gig, man, anyone can go!” Ray protests. He had assumed he was going with Gerard the whole time, which the latter hadn’t been aware of until Ray asked how much money entry was going to be. 

“I don’t want you to third wheel.” Gerard protests lamely. He loves Ray, loves him like a brother, but the whole point of the night was not having a friend to lean back on, like at the bowling party. If Gerard had followed Lindsey into the club and danced himself stupid with her, he and Frank wouldn’t have lit up outside the venue and gotten a warm sort of high together. Having a friend around is comforting, yeah, but Gerard has his sights set on pushing himself out of his comfort zone and farther into Frank Iero. Like, in a totally nonsexual way.

“Dude, it’s a  _ concert. _ ” Ray is really standing his ground on this, which makes Gerard feel even worse as he battles back. “There’s a crowd, it’s not a social event.”

“This is a DIY gig, it’s totally social, and you can come if you don’t talk to me.” God, that hadn’t come out right. There’s twenty minutes until the doors open and Gerard is growing desperate. 

“What, you don't want to be seen around me?”

“No way, Ray, come on. I just want to have an excuse to hang with him and if you’re there, I should be expected to hang with you. If I come alone, then he’s the only person I know there. Come on, look at this rationally.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m smitten.” Ray gives him a long, contemplative look. “I’m honestly not trying to hurt your feelings, I love you, man, but you can find any other concert to go to. This is purely a Frank thing for me.” Gerard genuinely hates fighting with anyone, it reminds him too much of his childhood and battling with his mother, and he can see the fire in Ray’s eyes fizzle out. The two of them had been facing each other and now Ray turns away from the argument, giving in.

“Fine. But only because of Frank.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry.” Gerard apologizes but Ray only shrugs, showing that he isn’t going to let the fight go that easily. “We can go to any show you want together…”

“This isn’t about- ugh, whatever, man. Whatever. Go to your gig.” Ray is resorting to childish tactics but Gerard unfortunately doesn’t have the time to stand around and pacify him. Gerard’s going to be late for doors, no matter what, and is about to leave before his conscience gets the best of him and he spins back around in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, man! I don’t want to leave this on bad terms, I hate having a fight unfinished, just come give me a hug and we can make up, okay? This has nothing to do with you, I’d do the same thing to Lindsey.” Ray had seated himself in his usual position at his desk with his big headphones on, creating dents in his afro, and he looks at Gerard with a familiar expression of disbelief and bemusement. But he doesn’t move, so Gerard picks his way across the disgustingly messy floor and bends to Ray’s seated height, wrapping his arms around his friend in an awkward hug. Ray’s face is smushed into Gerard’s chest, and his friend mumbles “jesus” before finally returning the hug. Gerard doesn’t make it last too long, and pulls back looking pleased.

“Better?” He asks, and Ray smiles. Good.

“Fine.”

“Always good to kiss and make up.” Ray screws up his nose and Gerard laughs as he checks his hair in the mirror one final time. “I’ll see you later, okay? And don’t worry if I don’t come home tonight.” With a wink and a grin, Gerard takes off. He doesn’t think about the repercussions to his own words and how worried or not worried Ray might have been on the night he went to the hospital. Sometimes it’s okay to care.

He’s hot with nerves and excitement and the frigid weather outside hardly seems to impact him this time. The doors are at seven and it’s a five band bill so Gerard is sure the night is going to be a long one. Toronto is iced out and slippery and Gerard has to take ginger steps down the street so he doesn't fall on his ass. No one’s put out salt on campus yet. League isn’t far but the cold makes it seem farther than ever. 

The sun has set so the lights on the street are bright and sparkling and Gerard feels just as bright as the leftover Christmas decorations washing out Toronto one bulb at a time. When Gerard arrives at League, the venue looks as nondescript as ever. The thing is, the outside of the venue is just a door. The place is underground, and from the outside in the nighttime, it’s practically invisible. In the day, it’s a shitty single door along the side of a low, white building. Gerard still isn’t sure what the building on top of it is, maybe an auto parts shop. Still, rent for the venue is cheap due to whoever owns the place on top, and they must get plenty of proceeds from the illegal bar. 

There’s no line outside, though Gerard hadn’t really expected there to be. He’s never seen a tangible crowd actually on the outside of the venue. People end up inside, they always do, but no one’s lining up to get in early. It’s not that kind of scene. Gerard pulls open the rickety door and jogs down the stairs, taking note of the now familiar coat pile in the entryway. He fishes his wallet and keys out of his coat pockets and then drops it with the rest of them, hoping it won’t get stolen, but not really worrying about it. In Atlanta, people steal each others’ coats. In Toronto, no one would even consider it.

Although people ditched their winter coats in the entryway, Gerard spots a few battle jackets upon entering the main room. It’s an odd mix of people. There’s guys in colored, rolled skinny khakis, Vans sneakers, and pop punk band t-shirts, standing next to their girlfriends wearing dramatic eyeliner and fishnet shirts or leggings, whatever they can get their hands on. There’s greasy dudes with beards and bad tattoos, and there’s cool chicks with shaved heads and faces full of metal. And then there’s Frank Iero. He’s helping set out merch on a foldout table. There’s been a little stage set up in a corner, and some guys in dirty hoodies are stacking PA speakers on top of each other. A low hum of talking voices has filled the room, which is lit by an overbright fluorescent light, but Frank doesn’t spot Gerard. 

He picks his way through the room, over to the edge where the bands have set up their tables. The merch that Frank is setting out is black with red drippy letters displaying the name “DOMESTIC HONESTY” in all caps.

“Hey!” Gerard greets, and Frank looks up from unloading a taped up cardboard box.

“Oh, hey, dude!” Frank looks really good. Despite the cold weather, he’s only wearing a thin grey t-shirt with a weird design of a dog on it, and the word “PUP” above that. For a fleeting, horrible moment, Gerard remembers that he’s supposed to have listened to Frank’s radio show and apparently loved the headlining band. Gerard’s been too busy worrying about dying to have tuned into Frank’s podcast for the past few weeks, and there’s a hot feeling of guilt and being put on the spot in his chest, but Frank’s warmth makes it go away. A little, at least. Under the weird shirt, he’s wearing scuffed black jeans and those bright red Converse. 

“Looks like a good crowd, huh?” Gerard ducks around the table as Frank shoots him a grin from around his glinting lip ring. 

“Yeah, this is gonna be killer. I’m so glad you could make it! No Lindsey?” Frank looks around behind Gerard and Gerard can’t tell if he’s disappointed or pleased by her absence.

“Nah, just me.” They don’t get a chance to talk further about Gerard’s flying solo when a couple of tweaked out looking dudes show up with even more boxes. 

“Yo.” One of them says, and Frank daps him up like a real cool guy. Gerard really isn’t heavy into any music scene, and is a little unfamiliar with how casual DIY shows are. Like, fans helping bands they’ve never heard up set up merch, type casual. 

“Hey, man. Gerard, these are my friends, they play in Domestic Honesty. This is Dylan,” (brown haired guy, big nose, holding a big box), “he sings and plays guitar, and this is Pat,” (orange beanie, glasses, mustache), “he’s on drums, and this is Charlie,” (blonde, short, heavily tattooed), “he plays bass. I’m filling in on guitar for them tonight.” Gerard says hello to them and shakes the inked up hand that Charlie offers.

“Wait, you’re playing?” He asks Frank, who has his hands clasped behind his back and rocks back and forth on his feet.

“Yep! Evan, their regular dude is sick,” (this isn’t necessarily true- their regular dude has been awake for fifty hours and is busy having a paranoid breakdown after getting blasted on meth), “and I know their songs and can play a decent riff, so they’re stuck with me.” That toothy grin, again.

“And if he fucks it up, it’ll probably sound more genuine.” Dylan says jokingly. At first, Gerard doesn’t know what he means by this. But when the first band goes on, a three piece outfit called Hard Stuff, (Gerard had asked Frank if they were serious about the name and the shorter man had just shrugged endearingly) Gerard understands a new meaning of fucked up. Like, this music sucks. Maybe it’s just because they’re the first band, but Gerard can’t get the hype. The crowd, however, goes wild. People shove and push and throw each other around and Frank pulls Gerard further into the darkened room to join in with the violence.

When in Rome, right? So Gerard Way joins his first mosh pit.

At first it’s terrifying, but then the adrenaline kicks in. Gerard lets himself be shoved around and at some point starts shoving back, using his fists and his feet the way he sees Frank doing. He loses Frank in a blur of sweat and bodies, and thinks it’s okay, thinks he’ll be fine. There are shitty lights flashing red and green, lighting up the guys on stage in zombielike colors. The room smells like sweat and beer, and Gerard feels like there’s a little too much going on as he’s thrown from side to side with the crowd around him. One song ends and another one starts without a clear transition between the two, but a couple dudes start clearing the crowd and splitting the room from one end to another.

Gerard is herded backwards and ends up pressed between some nervous looking younger girls. The music has slowed to a low grind with the drums thumping in the background. A breakdown on the horizon. The two guys who opened the pit now hang right at the end of it like animals circling their prey, bleary eyed and eager. The music has slowed down dramatically and the people ringing the edge of the circle all wait for the breakdown to kick in. Gerard hears the light clash of the cymbal in a three… two… one tempo before the singer screams into the mic and the crowd finally crashes together into the circle, spinning together in a whirlpool of violence and aggression. 

Gerard is caught right in the middle of the circle and stands his ground bravely until he slips. The floor is slick with sticky beer and sweaty condensation from the warmth of bodies. Gerard tries to right himself as he slips on the floor, but his feet are knocked out from underneath him as he’s shoved by someone and then he goes down, hard. For a second, he thinks he’s going to die. He scrapes his knee on the rough floor and is surrounded by bodies, being trampled and kicked over before a hand reaches out, a stranger pulling him back to his feet. The tall man lifts him up in an easy motion, slaps him on the back, and flings himself back into the crowd. Gerard has been saved.

He clears out of the pit after that and stands breathless at the edge of the crowd, watching the chaos from the back. It’s only a few minutes before the set ends and the throng of people loosens up, stopping all the punching and kicking to wipe the sweat out of their faces and grin at each other with tired smiles- human beings instead of animals. Frank Iero pushes out of the crowd with a blue bruise over one of his eyes, grinning like a maniac.

“Whaddup?” He asks of Gerard, out of breath but looking like he’s had the best time of his life. People have cleared out to the bar, check out merch, or moved back into little groups to chat with each other privately. As though they weren’t two-stepping and throwing elbows merely minutes ago. 

“That was fucking crazy.” Gerard’s hair is sweaty and his shirt is plastered to his skin.

“This crowd rocks.” Frank is bright with excitement and is still an active member of the crowd, even when the next band is considerably more chill than the previous one. They’re an all girl band called Cute Things who play some bummer indie rock that isn’t mosh-appropriate. Frank still sways along and cheers after every song, being a source of constant encouragement for the musicians. 

After their set, Frank winks at Gerard and says “this is me.” It’s fair to say that Gerard has no idea what he’s gotten into. When Domestic Honesty starts up, it’s the heavy type of crust punk that Hard Stuff had been playing, but moderately better. Gerard doesn’t mosh this time, and instead elects to stand directly in front of a deafening PA system, by one of the girls who played guitar for Cute Things. He’s still shoved and thrown around a bit by the pit, but has a clearer view of the stage and most definitely isn’t getting trampled. Besides, the stage view is exactly what he needs. Because Frank looks punk rock as fuck on that stage.

He bangs his head hard enough that his sweaty hair throws up a sheen of sweat. He does this thing where he bends his knees when he gets really into the music and during the end of one song, he’s almost bent to the floor as he plays, arm moving so fast that the tattoos on his skin turn into a blur. Once, he tilts his head up towards the ceiling and spits a spray of saliva upwards. The droplets catch the stage lights. Gerard is starry eyed and in love. Before the band’s last song, Dylan says a few words to the crowd.

“Thanks for going so hard, you guys have a shit ton of energy.” A chorus of cheers goes up. “And happy holidays, merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, whatever. Since this is technically a holiday show.” He’s tuning up his guitar and pulls at the strings while twisting the machine heads. “Anyways, I’m Dylan.” More cheers. “On the drums is Pat, bass is Charlie. Give them a hand.” Gerard claps along. “And on guitar, just for tonight, we’ve got Frank. He’s the one who put this whole show together, so thanks Frank, for making this happen.” Whistles and cheers from the crowd, and Frank grins tiredly, giving a cute little bow over the heavy white Les Paul that hangs low over his shoulders. “Again, we’re Domestic Honesty, and this is our last song. Let’s go crazy.” And then they play their last song. Frank shreds so hard he cuts his fingers on the strings and Pat’s drums almost get knocked over by a crowd surfer who’s nearly thrown onto the stage by the ferocious crowd.

Gerard is all eyes for Frank though, who's quick to help take down their stage setup and seeks out Gerard right after he's done.

“How’d I do?” Frank asks Gerard, who’s hanging out back by the room to the bar, holding a paper cup of water.

“Epic, man, you looked cool as hell up there. And you sounded good. I didn’t know you played that well!” Frank has mentioned his proficiency for guitar on the radio show, but Gerard didn’t know he was capable of rocking a sweaty basement gig like that. Frank scratches his head bashfully, but his eyes crinkle up with genuine happiness.

“Thanks. I was really fucking worried, god. All those people watching me… whew. Not my favorite place to be.” Frank pats down his pocket and pulls out a packet of Belmonts, worrying the blue and white package with his hands. 

“Stage fright?” Gerard had done theater in freshman and sophomore year before the personalities of the other kids became grating and annoying, and can’t imagine being afraid of an audience. He’s always been a big personality.

“You could say that.” Frank looks a bit uncomfortable, and flicks at the packet with shaky hands. Performing had clearly taken a toll on his anxiety. 

“You want a drink? It’s on me, celebratory.” Gerard offers, but Frank holds up the packet of cigarettes.

“I’d kill for a smoke, you want to take it outside?”

“People are lighting up in the bar, I don’t think they care.”

“I kind of need some air.” Frank does look a little pale, so Gerard obliges, not going to complain at an opportunity to spend more time with the guy. Frank lights up as they head up the carpeted stairs and takes a deep pull on the dart, lighting up his face in a temporarily orange glow. Then he breathes smoke. Gerard can’t take his eyes off him.

“Want a drag?” Frank offers, and Gerard lightly takes the cig off him, taking his own pull- nowhere near as long and deep as Frank. Gerard hands it back and Frank doesn’t offer again, just smokes it down to the filter and then tosses the butt on the ground. He had rushed up the stairs without stopping for a jacket, and both of them rub at their arms layered in goosebumps while standing at the side of the building. Frank fiddles with the packet of smokes, like he can’t decide if he wants another. 

“Wow… I would not do that again if they paid me.” Frank finally says, deciding to shove the pack back into his pocket. “Fucking hate performing.”

“You did well though!” Gerard chides. Frank shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter, I felt like I was gonna puke the whole time. Not worth it if it makes me feel like I’m gonna puke. I’ve got nerves, man.”

“Fair.” 

“I’m glad you came.” Frank looks up at him with warmth and gratitude in his hazel eyes. “I get like… hella anxious sometimes, around this scene, you know?” Gerard doesn’t. “I want to be just as good as them but man, I always end up overthinking shit.” Frank scuffs his shoe against some ice on the ground. “So I’m glad you made it. It’s good to have a friend tonight.”

“Of course.” Gerard responds, genuinely touched. 

Frank is the one to offer they head back inside, and he helps sling merch in between sets for Domestic Honesty. PUP plays last and Gerard vaguely recognizes some of the songs from the radio show. The crowd seems to have even more energy for the headliner, and Gerard finds himself liking the gritty, raw lyrics and the jumpy fast paced songs. The show ends too soon. Gerard doesn’t want to go home just yet and follows Frank like a lost puppy, helping him and the guys sell their merch. Gerard hangs around for nearly an hour until it’s pushing one in the morning and they’re setting up to leave. 

He leaves to get his jacket from the entryway and bumps into Frank, alone, on his way back in.

“Are you heading home?” Frank looks a little worried. He’s got his own too-thin jacket on, and has his hands shoved into his pockets to hide the shakes. Gerard shrugs.

“I guess so. You too?” Frank bites the inside of his lip in a cute, nervous way.

“Well, the guys and some chicks they met were thinking about going to Denny’s. I didn’t want to go alone…” Frank drifts off in that inarticulate, shy sort of way. The invitation hits Gerard a few seconds later than it should, and he starts. 

“Oh! You want me…?” Frank blushes and looks down at his shoes.

“If you’d like.”

“Yeah! Yeah, dude, of course! I’m always down for some Denny’s. And I’m an adventurer at heart, of course.” Frank looks blearily grateful and gives Gerard a sideways, half smile that’s heartstopping. They head back inside.

🝡

They drive windows down on the highway and it’s so cold outside that Gerard swears he can see the ghost of his breaths about five minutes after each one leaves his mouth. A group of ten of them had eaten stacks of greasy pancakes at Denny’s, had enough coffee to keep them jittery for years to come, and now they’ve finally split up at two a.m.

Dylan is driving Frank, Gerard, and a girl named Scarlet he had met back to his place, which turns out to be the basement of a townhouse out by Richmond Hill. The four of them unload the van together and load amps and instruments back into the low basement. The place is all underground, but there are narrow horizontal windows into the kitchen where a little bit of sunlight comes through. The place isn’t much more welcoming than Pete’s, and Dylan hurriedly clears his crystal off the counter when the four of them blow in from the frozen outdoors. The three of them pretend not to notice.

Scarlet is pretty and nice enough to talk to. She’s got long blonde hair, and there are two braided bits of it that frame her freckled face. Her lips are a dark pink that make her straight teeth look even whiter. She shares a beer with Gerard as they stand talking in the dimly lit kitchen. Frank is rolling joints on the counter next to a moldy loaf of bread, and Gerard watches his tongue as he licks the paper together. He’s good at rolling them, and holds one out to Dylan before finishing one for himself. They light up in the kitchen and share smoke for a while, running the joints down. Dylan tells Gerard that he can crash here for the night and then leads Scarlet off to his bedroom.

Frank rolls two more joints and gives one to Gerard as they crash down on the couch together, warm and stoned. Gerard sits way close to Frank and their shoulders knock together as they collapse on the couch, exhausted and sweat stained from the trials of the night. The bruise above Frank’s eye has purpled but makes him look badass all the same. Gerard had smoked his joint down quickly and flicks the roach onto the coffee table, sitting back contentedly while Frank lies down across the couch, his head in Gerard’s lap, joint still between his lips.

Gerard tenses momentarily at the sudden closeness, but realizes he’s too high to care. He leans down and plucks the j out of Frank’s mouth with his own lips, smiling haughtily as he tilts his own head back to suck the smoke out of it. 

“You fiend.” Frank mumbles, sleepily reaching back for the joint. 

“Mmm, it’s good weed.”

“I know, that’s why I rolled it.” 

“Hmm.” Gerard takes another drag of it and taps the ash onto the carpet, hoping it won’t catch. He needn’t worry, though. He’s full of immense stores of magic that he’s currently ignorant and unconscious of. Nothing will go wrong tonight for reasons all of his own. 

“Give ittt,” Frank whines softly. His eyes are so warm and pouty that Gerard hands the joint back to him. Frank looks holy while smoking it, and the smoke out of it is so thick that he french inhales it. Gerard can’t stand it. He gently plays the joint out of Frank’s fingers and takes a deep pull on it, watching the embers spark in the end. Then he leans down and presses his lips to Frank’s, blowing the smoke into his mouth. His lip ring presses against Gerard’s and Frank kisses back, harder, slipping tongue into it. 

Frank sits up now, raising his messy head out of Gerard’s lap and nearly layering himself on top of him, legs tangled over his lap. Frank brushes his hand over the back of Gerard’s head, teasing his hair, and kisses him again- hard. They twist together, making out on the beat up couch, lips locked and heart eyed. The joint burns away on the coffee table, filling the air with warm, comforting smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss going to shows so much & writing these concert scenes really cemented that :'(


	12. Star Sign Out of Whack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the minor characters in this fic are just original characters btw! i’ve read lots of fics where i’ve thought that characters were OCs but it turned out they were in some obscure band or smth… not the case here. so scarlet and ozzie and amy are all OCs. just so you know!
> 
> title is a ref to lyrics from "god of wine" by third eye blind which is a super good song & has lyrics that may or may not relate to the internal monologue of pete wentz during this chapter. (sometimes writing from one perspective is really hard!! the temptation to write from frank or pete's POVs are getting stronger and stronger...)
> 
> cw for plenty of drinking & (mostly) recreational drugs

Gerard wakes up not knowing where he is.

That isn’t unfamiliar, it happens sometimes, and he's warm and happy so it’s okay. He’s tangled into someone else and realizes he hasn’t had affection like this for a long, long time. Gerard has been having sex too rough and too cold for his own good, having spent freshman year in plenty of dangerous situations with guys whose names he never learned. He sometimes wonders why his mom never fucked with him then, never made him have a breakdown in the middle of an orgasm or had him throw up while getting blown. He realizes it must have been the  _ lack  _ of good feeling. The absence of love.

He feels love this morning. It takes a while for him to wake up and come to terms with his surroundings without moving, not wanting to disturb whoever he’s spooning with. It turns out, he isn’t the one who has to do the disturbing.

“Hey.” Someone, a girl is whisper-shouting from close by and Gerard finally moves, twisting his body back and uncurling it from Frank’s, god, he’s spooning Frank Iero. Half buried in the soft sofa cushions, he blinks up to see a somewhat familiar freckled face looking down at him. “Hey, Gerard.” Scarlet’s bright blue eyes are wide with worry and Gerard pushes himself into a seated position, still awkward around trying not to wake up Frank, who seems to be stirring himself.

“What’s up?” Gerard asks. Frank mumbles a little bit and flips over, squinting at the light that Scarlet had turned on. He’s got bad bedhead and the bruise on his eye looks worse than ever. Not for long, though. The sight of Frank lazy and drowsy in the dim morning light fills Gerard with a lovely longing and he feels magic course through him, like there’s glitter glue running through his veins instead of blood. Something like that. The bruise over Frank’s eye turns from purple to a nasty swampy mottled green to yellow- fading through the healing process in a matter of seconds. Nobody notices except Gerard.

Scarlet picks at the couch cushion with an expression like fear.

“Are you guys leaving? Are you going back to Toronto?” Frank had been the little spoon and slides from the couch to the floor, stretching from his seated position and taking a good look at her.

“Yeah, we go to the University. Live on campus. What’s up?” He repeats Gerard’s original question and the blonde girl shoots a nervous look back down the narrow hallway where Gerard assumes Dylan’s bedroom is.

“I want to go home.” Is all she says. They pack up quick, get themselves together, and just when they’re about to finally leave the dingy basement, Frank tells them he wants to check on Dylan. “Just quickly,” he says, before rushing off down the hallway. Anxious fucking person. Scarlet leans back against the kitchen counter and hugs herself. There are purple marks on her neck and Gerard can’t tell if they’re hickies or bruises.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Gerard asks, hoping he’s not being nosy. Scarlet looks at him wide eyed.

“He smoked some crystal and then went crazy.” Doesn’t answer his question.

“But he didn’t hurt you?” Hugs herself tighter. Gerard can’t make eye contact long enough and resorts to magic, feeling his thoughts work his way through hers, untangling her worries and making it all better. She releases a deep breath.

“Not really, he just got super aggressive and weird and fucking, creepy.” She shivers but she’s telling the truth and Gerard relaxes, knowing he won’t have a rapist to thank for crashing on his couch. Frank hurries back into the kitchen looking worried and frustrated.

“He’s off his fucking head, let’s go.” So they do. The sky is blue and clear with a wind so strong that the three of them are in tears by the time they reach a bus stop. Gerard, Frank, and Scarlet wait for maybe twenty minutes for the bus, jumping up and down to keep their feet warm and pacing around in circles, huffing breaths into their hands to stop them from turning into blocks of ice. Typical Canadian behavior.

When the bus finally comes it’s nearly empty, Sunday morning doesn’t warrant many bus rides, and Gerard and Frank sit next to each other while Scarlet sits in front of them and turns around in her seat to talk to them.

“You guys are at the University?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” Gerard replies. Frank’s knee is hopping up and down and his hands are shaky with jitters. It’s distracting but endearing in a lovely sort of way. The two of them are sitting close enough that Frank’s leg is against Gerard’s and it’s very warm and very good and Gerard doesn’t protest. “Where are you at?”

“Out by Weston.”

“You can get the train from 407, right?”

“Yeah.” Scarlet bites at her lip and looks back and forth from Frank to Gerard, and back again. “Is Dylan always like that?” Gerard shrugs.

“I just met him yesterday.”

“They’re all kind of tweakers.” Frank says in a hoarse voice. He clears his throat and speaks again. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t realize he was going to get like that last night. Don’t date junkies, right?” Scarlet gives him a disappointed look and falls silent. They don’t talk for the rest of the ride and at the train station, Frank tells Scarlet he needs a smoke and tells her to go on ahead. Gerard says “see ya” and she mumbles a goodbye in return, apparently eager enough to get away from them. He never sees her again.

It’s freezing fucking cold but Frank still lights up outside the subway station while Gerard rubs his hands together to keep them warm. Maybe Frank looks sexy when he takes a deep drag on his dart and breathes smoke but it’s an inconvenient habit and Gerard wishes they were on the warm train already. He doesn’t complain, though. He’ll make any excuse to stand out in the snow and watch Frank Iero smoke cigarettes. 

“I’m sorry.” Frank says when they’re sitting on the train back towards downtown. 

“For what?”

“Putting us up at a geeker’s place.” Frank is much calmer now that he’s smoked and has his hands twisted together over his knees. Still, he’s picking at his nails. Always moving around. 

“He didn’t bother me. I had a pretty good night.” Gerard smiles charmingly and Frank grins back at him, a pink blush coloring his cheeks.

“Yeah, I did too.” 

“Successful night, you’d say?”

“Most definitely. Made good money, ate good pancakes, smoked good weed, had a good makeout session.”

“For sure.” Frank is picking at his cuticles and Gerard feels an odd desire to reach over and hold Frank’s hand to steady him. He doesn’t, though. When they arrive back on campus, Gerard feels a lonely longing to follow Frank back to his dorm and stay with him until maybe forever. He’d be down to live forever if Frank Iero’s along for the ride. They walk down the block and there’s an awkward moment where Frank turns one way and Gerard turns the other, ready to separate and go back to their dorms.

“Oh, I’m up University…” Gerard says, a little nervous, a little insecure, a little not sure how to say goodbye.

“Right.” Frank looks like he’s feeling the exact same thing. So Gerard’s mouth moves forward before his brain can.

“I really dig hanging out with you and the making out was also kind of nice, like  _ really _ nice, and maybe do you want to go on a date?” Frank’s hazel eyes widen and his cheeks turn pinker than they already are with the bite of the wind. And he smiles. That’s a good sign.

“I dig you too, man. I’d love to go on a date with you.” 

“Epic, okay. Epic!" God, Gerard can't wipe this dumb grin off of his face. "Well, the Art Gallery of Ontario actually opened up this new exhibition right before Christmas on like, African spirituality, and it looks super dope so if you’re into art, or whatever, that could be fun. But we can do whatever you like.” Frank looks like he isn’t listening to Gerard’s rambles and looks at his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Smiles. Breathless.

“That sounds cool, I’ll go wherever.”

“Cool.” Gerard falls silent and it’s briefly awkward. “Want a hug?” Frank laughs and runs a hand back through his hair.

“Fuck yeah.” They hug tightly and neither of them see each others’ delighted faces over their shoulders but when Frank pulls back, both of them are flushed faced and bright eyed. Entranced.

🝡

December 31st and Gerard is going to another party. This time it’s Pete’s New Years’ party and this time, Ray is coming. This conversation hadn’t been a fight because Gerard had  _ wanted  _ Ray to come. After the conversation on Pete’s couch over spiked hot chocolate, Gerard is relieved to know that there’s no longer any romantic or sexual pressure related to Pete, and is in a very bright mood on the night of the affair. 

“Are you stoked? I’m stoked.”

“So stoked.” 

“Pete’s wild.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“But he’s also a life saver, you know?” Ray looks up at him sort of curiously. 

“Yeah.” Gerard knows for some reason that Ray isn’t really Pete Wentz’s biggest fan and he never indulges Gerard too much when it comes to talking about him. In Ray’s eyes, it seemed that everything had turned south in Gerard’s life after he went on that first drunken date in the Distillery District. He doesn’t know about the late night, tearful conversation that had taken place in Pete’s shitty apartment and can’t begin to recognize how important the guy is to Gerard. That he really had saved Gerard’s life. 

It’s nighttime in Toronto and the two of them travel by train to Brimley, a route that has become increasingly familiar to Gerard. Though the run down neighborhood feels a lot safer to Gerard with Ray Toro by his side. Ray Toro is a good friend. He’s steadfast and talkative and has a good sense of humor and keeps pace with Gerard as the two of them walk quickly down the street to get out of the cold. They arrive at Pete’s shitty apartment building and Gerard takes them up through the lift, having memorized the route up the flickering, shuddering elevator and down the peeling and badly lit hallway to the mecca in 133, Pete Wentz’s apartment. 

The place is jumping. 

Gerard opens the door to find the apartment brighter lit than he’s ever seen it, and packed with people. Drinking, smoking, chatting, dancing- the place is full of loud movement and Gerard relaxes almost as soon as he walks in. There’s magical energy buzzing in the air like electricity and Gerard can nearly feel it in his veins. His cheeks color and his eyes brighten, turning from their typical murky brown to a brighter hazel. Flecked gold. 

“Yo, I think that’s Osborne Umaru.” Ray says from behind him. They’re blocking the doorway and move away from it, having to push through people just to walk a few steps into the crowded apartment. No one seems to take notice of their arrival and that’s fine by Gerard, for the moment. He needs to hunt down Pete.

“Who? Where?” Gerard looks around and Ray nudges him before pointing in a very lowkey way across the room. There’s a tall black man in a studded jacket drinking something very pink out of a sparkling martini glass. He has long dreads that fall back over his shoulders and is talking to a very short dude wearing a bright orange beanie. He’s intolerably cool looking.

“Osborne Umaru.” Ray repeats. It sounds like he’s speaking a foreign language. Then again, he might be. “He’s this producer, man, he’s like… big. Like worked with Drake type shit.” Ray rocks up on his tiptoes to get a better look at the guy. “Jeez, man! It’s really him!”

“Quit fangirling!” Gerard pulls him down from his toes. “Go say hi, but be cool!” Ray turns to him with an incredulous expression. 

“Do you really think I should?” Before Gerard can answer, both him and Ray have hands clamped down on their shoulders and flinch involuntarily at the same time.

“Ger- _ rard _ ! Gerard motherfuckin’ Way! And company! What the  _ fuck _ is up?” It’s Pete, drunk and high and bopping up and down as he pulls Gerard in for a very tight hug. His eyes are the glassy way they get when he’s had too much to drink, the way they almost always are these days, and his body temperature is through the roof as he squeezes Gerard in the hug. His breath is warm with liquor.

“Hey, man, we just got here. This is my friend Ray.” Pete pulls back to size up Ray Toro, who looks a bit defensive. But Pete Wentz is no threat. He flashes that white hot grin that he’s so good at and Ray relaxes into his energy almost immediately. It’s the magic. 

“Good to meet you dude, I’m Pete.” The two of them shake hands and Ray leans in conspiratorially to ask-

“Is that Osborne Umaru over there?” Pete swivels his head around fast enough for Gerard to understand that someone at this party must have brought coke. 

“Oh, Ozzie? Yeah, man, he’s a friend of a friend. There’s a cool crowd here. Want to meet him? Here, I’ll introduce you.” Pete’s steady hand finds Ray’s arm and he starts leading him through the crowd. The last Gerard sees of his friend is Ray’s eyes sparkling from behind his afro and him mouthing the words- “famous people!” with a huge grin before disappearing into the throng. 

Gerard has been left to his own devices. First order of business is to get a drink.

He pushes himself through to the kitchen and has tiny conversations with people he won’t circle back to- things like people complimenting his hair or his shirt and him saying thanks, or him complimenting someone’s hair or shirt and them saying thanks. It’s a good vibe, and he finally makes his way to the dinky kitchen to find that yes indeed, people are most definitely snorting lines off the counter top. 

The rest of the counter has been taken up by an immense collection of liquor bottles. There’s tall bottles of golden whiskey, sapphire tinted bottles of gin, amber tumblers of rum, silvery tequila, and ruby red brandy. Then there’s the vodka, of course. Bacardi in towering bottles like the one Gerard had thrown into Lake Ontario in an attempt to save his own life. Gerard isn’t a big drinker and stares at the assortment of clinking bottles. 

“What’s your go-to?” A rough voice asks from behind him. The owner of the voice squeezes around the counter to position herself in front of Gerard. She’s wearing a red and green flannel shirt and a brown beanie and the magical energy she radiates makes Gerard feel like he’s stuck his finger into an electrical socket. 

“Uh.” He stammers. Her eyes flash purple, blue, red, and then a warm greenish tone. 

“You look lost.” Gerard catches his breath almost as soon as he loses it.

“Sorry, you’re just. Magic. Fuck.” His heart is still pumping too hard in his chest. She smiles to show off crooked teeth and currents make the hairs on Gerard’s arms stand up. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Let me mix you something, huh?”

“Sure.” He doesn’t really care what she’s going to do and is surprised when she moves away from the counter of alcohol and back towards what looks like a coffee machine under the microwave. 

“Coffee?” Gerard asks as he follows her, ducking his head as a few balloons go bouncing around the kitchen.

“Not just.” The mystery magic girl responds. “They call this the Pharmaceutical Stimulant.” 

“Wouldn’t some coke do the same thing?” She laughs while pushing buttons on the silvery machine that cannot rationally belong to Pete. Who brings their own coffee machine to a New Years’ party? Then her kaleidoscope eyes return to Gerard and she winks.

“This will get you  _ way  _ more buzzed than coke. You’ll enjoy the hell out of tonight.” Gerard is surprised to find out she’s right. She had made a cup of black espresso and then thrown all sorts of liquor into it: vodka, kahlua, gin. Gerard’s either going to spend the night throwing up or so totaled off of liquor and caffeine that he might just take off into the night sky. What the fuck, right? It’s New Years, he can get as fucked up as he pleases. 

“I’m Amy.” She says after he chokes down a few slugs of the drink, disgusted and delighted by the taste all at once.

“Gerard.” He replies, having to nearly shout over the music pumping through the apartment. She’s left the kitchen and he follows behind, resorting to holding the mug of poison over his head like a frat boy as they push through the apartment. He assumes that she’s trying to find a quiet place, but gives him an unintentional tour of what’s going on in the apartment instead.

The kitchen is full of coke heads getting too drunk for their own good. Pete’s bedroom has been hotboxed to shit and full of hippie/hipster hybrids passing around the biggest bong Gerard has ever seen. It has to be at least a foot tall. The air in the bedroom is thick with smoke and the people sitting on the bed and the floor are hazy at best. Amy and Gerard don’t leave before taking hits of the bong, and Gerard coughs so hard he cries and Amy herds him out of the room. In the hallway, Gerard takes another gulp of the dark brown mixture Amy had whipped up and the door to the bedroom slams without anyone touching it.

People are making out in the hallway and the living room is a disaster. There’s a small crowd surrounding Osborne in the corner, but people stop standing and start sitting gradually as they get closer to the couch, and Amy tells Gerard to sit down on a generally empty patch of floor. She disappears into the throng and Gerard sits down heavily, processing the bong hit and sloshing spiked espresso all over himself. There’s people to the right and left of him, talking and kissing and laughing and he sits back against the wall and lets the energy wash over him. 

“Yo! Wake up.” A snap of fingers and Amy is back with a bottle of port. 

“God, I love wine.” Gerard confesses and she laughs, tipping the wine into his mug to top him off. 

“Me too.” She drinks right from the bottle and Gerard thinks that’s cool, really cool. A little bit dribbles down her chin and she licks it off, leaving a little crimson streak behind around her lips.

“So how d’you know Pete?”

“Met at David’s Tea, went on one date, but I'm apparently in love with someone else. He’s teaching me magic.”

“It seems that you’re already magic.” Gerard gets that electric feel again and finally understands what MGMT were talking about.

“Yeah, but he’s teaching me this defensive stuff. He’s a life saver. Where did you two meet?”

“His birthday party.” Amy gets a fond expression on her long face. Under her rainbow eyes is a long nose and thin lips. Long, straight brown hair that goes past her shoulders descends from under her beanie. She’s so unassuming but at the same time so exciting. Gerard assumes she’s one of the magicians that Pete had been talking about that night at the bar. “He was wearing six inch platforms and a thong and fell into me.” She bubbles with laughter. “Weird night.”

“When’s his birthday?”

“June 5th or 4th, I think. Early June. I’ve got a shitty memory.”

“Oh shit, he’s a Gemini!” The port in his mug makes the acidic mix of liquor and espresso at the bottom go down easier, and Amy tops off his empty cup again. 

“For real, he fits it. What are you?”

“Guess.” Gerard says mischievously, nursing the mug close to him while Amy fixes her eyes on him. 

“Libra?”

“Fuck you, no way.”

“Fine! Jeez! Sagittarius?” 

“One more strike and you’re out!”

“Aries?”

“Yes!” Gerard shouts, much happier than he should be. Much louder. 

“Now guess me.”

“You’re a fucking Aquarius.”

“Wrong! Two more guesses.”

“You’re an air sign, bitch! Gemini?”

“Yes!” Amy celebrates in the same way and for a terrifying moment, Gerard doesn’t know when Frank’s birthday is. This is something that he can’t go without knowing, but he’s in no place to text or call. He’ll stick around for the fireworks, at least, but then he’s got other places to go. Places where Frank Iero will be. 


	13. Win Some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, two-four is canadian slang for a 24 pack of beer
> 
> i inserted some pics of frank's outfit at the beginning just so everyone can see what i imagined him wearing. enjoy lol
> 
> also cw for smut at the beginning (yay!) and bad alcoholic habits near the end (boo!)

The fireworks are kickass.

Gerard has lost both Pete and Ray in the fray of the party, but he and Amy stand on the rooftop with the rest of the crowd sober enough to get upstairs and watch shit explode overhead. It’s killer. Gerard dances his way back downstairs, gets Amy’s number, texts Ray that he’s leaving, texts Lindsey happy new year, texts Frank if he can come over, and then stumbles out of the apartment back down to the street.

He doesn’t wait for a reply from Frank. He’s been put in motion and will not stop until acted on by an external force. And he’s itching to be acted on.

Gerard has never seen anyone in the abandoned neighborhood around Pete’s place, but there’s people out in the streets of Brimley at midnight, talking and laughing.

“Happy New Year!” Gerard shouts across the street at them.

“You too, bro!” One of them calls back, waving happily. Gerard loves when people are in good moods. The train ride is free because it’s New Years and Gerard is in such a happy buzzy state that he can hardly feel the cold since he’s sweat hot with alcohol, and nearly runs back down the icy streets to Frank’s dorm. Still, no one has put salt out and he falls down not once, not twice, but three times in a row on a particularly nasty stretch of black ice. And it’s the funniest fucking thing. After scraping his knee the third time, Gerard sits on his ass on the dark pathway and laughs to high heaven. It’s a good night, man. It’s a really good night. 

Frank is in just as good a mood when Gerard crashes the indie little party taking place in the living room that he and his suitemates share. They’re drinking craft beers and passing around backwoods. There’s cute golden Christmas lights strung up around the room and there’s a feeling of warmth and comfort that makes Gerard smile.

“Happy fucking New Years, guys!” Gerard laughs when he walks in, and Frank’s roommates all cheer and clap. None of them are sober. Frank doesn’t waste time with introductions, just makes a sweeping gesture and says “everyone, this is Gerard.” He’s wearing a chullo cap in the design of an American flag, and wears a big crewneck sweater that has a picture of an opossum on it and says “LIVE UGLY - FAKE YOUR DEATH”. Gerard has no idea what it means but he doesn’t care because Frank isn’t wearing any pants. I mean, he has his underwear on, but no pants. Jesus christ.

Come to think of it, one girl has taken her top (and bra) off, and is sitting topless on the floor. Some other dude is shirtless. And another is missing his pants.

“Strip poker!” Frank exclaims. His face is red and there’s this look he gets on his face when he’s got a really genuine smile going where his eyes crinkle up and he looks like the happiest guy on earth and Gerard is starstruck. 

“I think you should lose a couple more rounds.” Gerard says, and then he moves across the room to Frank and kisses him. Frank forfeits his turn and laughs out loud as he and Gerard stumble down the tiny hallway into Frank’s tiny bedroom. They kiss- hands and lips and skin and need and want and lust. There’s no slow way to draw it out- they’re both hooked on the fun of New Years, and plastered enough to run them through next week. Goddamn. Frank scrambles up onto the bed and takes off his possum sweater while Gerard struggles with all his layers.

“Come up here!” Frank instructs loudly, eyes bright and glazy. Gerard scrambles up onto the lofted bed and Frank undoes his pants without any hesitation, stripping off the skinny jeans and kissing Gerard’s scraped knee on the way down. Gerard kicks off the jeans and Frank wipes the blood off Gerard’s knee, which is freely bleeding all over the place.

“Whassup?” Gerard slurs, looking down at Frank. He’s all sharp lines and hard angles and Gerard wants him badly. Really fucking badly.

“Should I put a bandaid on this?” Frank asks, poking the wound.

“That’s, like… my number five priority right now.”

“Number five?”

“Yeah, so it’s okay. Let it bleed. Number one is you.” Frank gets the hint. He gives Gerard a wickedly sexy smile and then sticks his hand down Gerard’s boxer briefs.

Jesus fucking _ christ _ . Frank doesn’t waste any time with handjobs and pumps his hand up and down Gerard’s cock while Gerard makes weird strangled noises in the back of his throat as he gets hotter and hotter and closes his eyes, tilting his head back and relishing the heat of it all, jesus christ, Frank is so fucking hot, and then he cups Gerard's balls and Gerard briefly thinks that straight men will never understand how a good handjob feels because it's fucking _nice,_ it's absolutely _excellent,_ and then-

Frank stops.

“What the fuck?” Gerard pants, watching Frank pull off his shirt in the sexiest possible way he ever could. He’s pale and scrawny and has a tramp stamp that goes all around his waist- the only part of that Gerard can properly see is the word “AND” inked right below his belly button. 

“Fuck me.” Frank says hotly, rocking back on his heels wearing nothing but his underwear.

“You can’t stop- I’m gonna come in, like, two seconds!” Gerard exclaims. “At least let me restart!” 

“Restart?!” Frank giggles hysterically, and now he leans forward and wraps his mouth around the tip of Gerard’s head and  _ oh, Jesus,  _ Gerard is sinning. God is he sinning. Frank bobs his head up and down, taking this like a champ, and Gerard tilts his head back and groans softly. Frank’s mouth is wet against him and Gerard rolls his hips forward, thinking about nothing else other than the twisting in his stomach and the way Frank’s lip ring provides a cool contrast to his hot mouth. His fucking porn mouth. He sucks and licks and runs the edge of his teeth against the shaft and Gerard says- “oh!” and then he comes. 

Frank swallows some of it and spits out the rest onto the black bedsheets now stained red and white. He wipes his pink lips, shiny and swollen with spit and come, and Gerard thinks he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

“Now,” Frank has leaned back over his thighs again and gives Gerard a look that is sultry but simple. It’s pure desire. “Fuck. Me.” He accentuates both words and Gerard would, oh my god he would, but he’d rather wake up tomorrow with his spine intact from  _ not  _ hanging himself and his blood still in his veins from  _ not  _ cutting up his wrists. He loses his confidence. Deflates. 

“I can’t.”

“Fuck you, yes you can!”

“I can’t, Frank, I’m too drunk.” It's an excuse at best, but Gerard knows something awful will most certainly happen if he goes too far with Frank tonight.

“Well  _ I’m  _ not going to do it!” Jesus christ, the things only bottoms say.

“Well neither am I!” Frank stares at him.

“You’re not that drunk.” He offers, but it’s weak. “You really don’t want to?”

“I’m wasted, you’re crossed, it’s not the right time. Fuck, I'm high too. It's nothing personal!” Gerard hates himself for doing it but Frank understands the reasonability.

“Fine.” He says, running a hand back through his choppy hair. “Well, you need to do something for me. Another Baltimore handshake? A good old Lewinsky?” Gerard laughs loudly and pulls Frank close to him, kissing him hard and wet and trailing himself down his neck, sucking hard at the skin and biting to leave trails of purple hickies down his skin. Frank shivers under him and Gerard palms him, feeling his cock harden against his hand. 

“You want a Lewinsky? A hummer? Slob job?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Frank giggles, his face reddening as Gerard slinks his hand down under Frank’s underpants, pulling the fabric down as he dissolves onto the bedsheets, about to be the one to pleasure Frank. But no, he can feel the sickness creeping back in, the resolve underneath the drunkenness, and he nearly stops and says that he can’t suck his dick either and he needs to go home and break it off before he wakes up dead. 

But Frank’s eyes glow like tomorrow’s sunrise and his mouth is slick and pink and he’s got a tattoo around his waistline because he’s cool and beautiful and Gerard is only ever going to live once. So he does. 

Afterwards, Frank puts his shorts and sweater back on so he can crack the window and smoke a cigarette out of it. There’s a massive black Misfits logo on his left calf and he looks badass behind the glowing end of a cigarette with his inked pale legs bare. Gerard sits at the foot of his bed with his back up against the wall, wearing the knit Chullo cap and watching him breathe smoke.

“Frank?”

“What’s up?”

“When’s your birthday?”

“Halloween.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I’m a Halloween baby.” This information makes Frank even sexier than he already was. He might have been somewhat mortal before, but now he’s just a god. Frank turns back from the window, his eyes dark from the light outside and his fingers still twisting the burning end of the cigarette. “I’m gonna get HALLOWEEN tattooed across my knuckles. It’s my New Year’s resolution.”

“That’s so badass.” Gerard says it with genuine feeling and Frank’s smile stretches ear to ear. He holds out the cig and Gerard leans forward to gently take it from him, never once breaking eye contact. Frank licks at his lips and leans contentedly back as Gerard clambers around him to blow smoke out the window. It’s tasteful as fuck that Frank doesn’t fill up his room with cigarette smoke, but Gerard is growing to like the smell. It’s Frank’s smell. 

“So you’re a Scorpio.” Gerard muses while handing the dart back to Frank and moving back across his bed. 

“You believe in that astrology shit? What are you?”

“Aries. Let’s check if we’re compatible?” Frank rolls his eyes humorously while he finishes the cig and flicks it out the window, watching it fall into the darkness. He pulls the pane shut and moves over to Gerard, cuddling up to him and squinting at his phone screen. 

“Okay, so apparently we’re 50% compatible for sex and intimacy.” Gerard reads. 

“Damn straight.” Frank responds, but with no ill will in his voice. 

“90% compatible for trust. That’s cool. Oh no, only 20% for intellect and communication.” Frank barks out a laugh. “Listen, listen,” Gerard speaks up, laughing as he reads over the screen. “Scorpios are too dark and difficult, and Aries are too shallow. Ha!”

“Is that true?”

“Maybe! Jesus, a 1% for emotions because you’re too sensitive.”

“That can’t be right!” Frank snatches the phone out of Gerard’s grasp and cuts his thumb while swiping at the still cracked screen. “Fuck.” He swears, sucking blood out of the shallow cut while scrolling through the website. “Dang, we’re only a 48% generally. Should we quit while we’re ahead?”

“Nah.” Gerard responds, pouring healing energy into the man cuddled next to him. He sighs loudly and Frank hands his phone back to him, apparently not noticing how the cut on his thumb had healed instantly. “Nah, I think we should stick it out a little longer.” Frank curls back into him, head resting on his shoulder, soft and warm and beautiful. 

“Good idea.” Frank mumbles softly.

“Listen, I don’t want to jump into things, but I’m still kind of drunk and want to know if it’s chill if we can say we're dating, or whatever?”

“No fucking problem.” Frank replies with absolutely no hesitation in his voice. Gerard is so blissfully happy that the single lightbulb in Frank’s room explodes in a shatter of glass and still glowing wires. They sit in a stunned silence until Frank giggles in that endearingly rough way he does so well. “Gerard?”

“Uh huh?”

“I think you’re a little haunted.” Gerard hugs him closer in the sudden darkness and vows to never let him go. 

🝡

Gerard finds that he’s unable to stay away from Pete Wentz. He's like a moth drawn to a light that's going to burn him once he settles in, but he just can't stay away. It's some bizarre compulsion. 

It’s the second day of the year and he’s already getting off the train in Brimley for another mind-strengthening session. The depressing neighborhood has become unfortunately familiar to him, and he wanders through the desolate streets up to Pete’s apartment. The place looks hollow. There’s trash everywhere- liquor bottles, roaches from joints, ash piled in corners from cigarettes, puke from those who got too wasted at the party, wrappers and junk littering the floors every which way. 

Pete is sitting on his couch with a two-four in front of him at the coffee table. He’s halfway through it and sits cross legged on the couch, surrounded by beer cans that rustle and crunch under Gerard’s feet as he wades through the unlocked apartment.

“You good, man?” Gerard asks uselessly, kicking empty cans out of the way as he sits down on the stained grey couch next to Pete. He’s wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts and sways as he turns to look at Gerard with bloodshot eyes.

“I’m whatever.” Pete says in a hoarse voice that cracks when he speaks. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, maybe?” Pete holds onto his beer can with both hands like letting it go is the worst thing that could ever happen to him. Gerard tugs at it gently and Pete tugs back.

“Lemme finish.”

“Last one, dude. You need a shower, and I can clean some of this up.” Pete won’t look at him. Doesn’t even smile. He chugs the rest of his beer and chucks the can pathetically at the floor where it clangs noisily with the rest of them. “Need help?” Gerard offers, reaching out to Pete, who shakes him off and stands- miraculously but unsteadily. 

“I’m fine, bro. Fine.” Pete shakes his head foggily and gives Gerard a wavering look. “Just gimme, like twenty minutes.” 

“Kay.” Pete wanders off down the hallway and Gerard immediately switches to cleaning mode. He grabs a trash bag from under the sink and starts throwing beer cans and cigarette butts alike into it, sweeping around the apartment in a frenzy to try to clean up some of the filth that’s rotting away in the apartment. Metaphorically and literally. Gerard gets all the beer cans stuffed into the bag as well as all the shit laying around on the floor that’s been left behind by the ghosts of the party.

Gerard is coming to realize that Pete may have a genuine problem with alcohol. The thing is, it’s a very hard thing to say something about. It’s hard to look your friend in the eye and ask if they’re an alcoholic when you already know the answer. Because what can he do? They’re adults, they make their own decisions, and Pete is the one drinking himself into a spacey sort of oblivion every single day. Not even getting hungover anymore. Just breaks between drinks. Gerard can’t force him to go to rehab or AA or anything. He can’t really do anything.

So he doesn’t.

Pete walks back down the hallway with steadier footsteps and sits back down on the couch in a jerky way that says he’s taken something. This is unexpected and Gerard finally gets over his own fear of confrontation.

“Look, you can drink and you can pop pills, but I don’t think mixing them is such a good idea.”

“It’s just vyvanse, dude. They don’t interact. It’s chill.” Pete looks and smells clean, at least. He wears baggy shorts and a big purple sweatshirt and looks immeasurably exhausted behind the pinpoint pupils. “Should we get started?”

“Just, hold on.” Gerard sits back against the side of the couch, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Don’t make that face, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“Do you need help, or something? Because I’m worried about you.” Pete looks like he’s been put under the gun and shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m just going through it, you know?” He says plainly. “I’m working on cutting down some, you know. Everyone just got so crazy on New Years’ and I got this two-four and I’ve gotta finish it, and it’d go faster if you’d help-”

“I’m not drinking today.” Pete always gets Gerard fucking wasted because  _ he’s  _ always wasted, but Gerard is going to stand his ground on this one. He’s going to the art gallery with Frank after his magical training session with Pete, and wants to be sober for it. Sober for once. “And you don’t need to finish it. You can give it to me and I can take it back to school and give it away for free and everyone’ll love me.”

“Nah, I don’t think I can let you do that.”

“But _ I _ don’t know if I should let you drink twelve more before the day’s over.” Pete fixes him with a look that says  _ this is none of your business  _ and his twitching eyes flash a sudden understanding into Gerard’s chest. Pete’s manipulating him through magic and all of a sudden, Gerard has nothing left to say on the topic.

“Okay.” Pete continues as though nothing had happened. “Okay.” He repeats, and then realizes that he might have been in the wrong. “I’ll be okay, alright? I’m working on it. Now let’s talk you, eh? Your problem is more pressing.” Gerard leaves it there, not knowing what else to say. “So mind reading.”

“Mind reading.” 

“You said it was like your mom was shuffling through your thoughts.” Gerard is surprised that Pete had remembered the comparison he made, and nods. “So let’s keep it metaphorical, how about it?” Pete snaps his fingers and a deck of cards drops onto the table, making Gerard jump in surprise. 

“Jesus christ! You can conjure stuff?” Pete shrugs and picks up the packet of Bicycle cards. 

“Just a little trick I learned back west.” He acts as though it isn’t a big deal, and it doesn’t seem to be, to him, not at all. Gerard has a million questions about conjuring objects but doesn’t get a chance to ask any of them, as Pete has moved on. “So we’re gonna stick with the card thing.”

“Cool.”

“Let’s play it like slapjack first, okay? The jacks are gonna be your evil, sinning, awful thoughts. Every time I play a jack I want you to slap down on my hand and think “NO” loud and clear, okay?”

“Okay.” Gerard feels a bit hesitant but Pete knocks the cards on the table and starts shuffling the deck. Gerard moves down to the floor on the other side of the table so he can play a better game. Pete starts dealing out the cards and Gerard hovers nervously. He plays a jack and Gerard smacks his hand like he’s five years old and just learning how to play cards. Gerard hits every jack with a tough sort of fervor and when they’re done, Pete shuffles out some cards and the jacks come up faster. They go through the smaller deck and Pete’s hand turns red from Gerard slapping it with such ferocity. 

Pete deals out the deck until it’s jack after jack and Gerard thinks NO NO NO NO, four times over as he smacks Pete’s hand to the table. The metaphor works. 

“Jeez.” Pete rubs his hand and gives Gerard a weak half smile as he sticks the cards back in their deck. “Okay, you succeeded! Yay! Gerard wins!” 

“Yay.” Gerard repeats in a humorless voice, and Pete shakes his head at him.

“You need a better attitude. We’re gonna go mental now. I’m gonna try to read your thoughts, and you’re gonna kick me out of your head.”

“Oh, god.” Gerard pales at the thought of this and Pete looks a little worried.

“You cool? I won’t deep dive, I’ll just pry. I’m thinking I’ll dig at shit that isn’t personal. Like I’ll try to find stuff about a random topic.”

“What’s your topic?” Gerard is a little edgy about this because he’s always on the verge of a panic attack when his mom starts shuffling through his thoughts. It’s personal and scary and he feels out of control- his own mind at war against himself and feeling like he’s completely defenseless.

“What should it be? Something you’ve done enough times to have, like, distinct memories of. That I can just snatch.” Gerard doesn’t like that Pete is thinking about “snatching” up his thoughts. He himself doesn’t know how to mind read and doesn’t understand how it works, but it makes him uncomfortable enough to let Pete voluntarily paw through his thoughts.

“Uh….”

“Literally any topic you might have clear memories of.”

“Going to the beach?” Gerard mumbles weakly, trying to think of something safe to give Pete access to. 

“Awesome, the beach. So I’m going to get in your head and go find thoughts about beaches, okay? And you’re gonna try to stop me. You’re gonna smack me down and think “NO” really hard and really mean it, okay? You need to mentally fight me off.”

“Can I win?” Pete grins easily and Gerard feels a bit reassured.

“That’s the goal. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Gerard is pale faced and caught off guard when he feels Pete in his head and that strange shuffling sensation. He’s only ever associated it with the immediate pain that comes after his mom has been reading his personal emotions and Gerard flinches hard, hating it, hating the feeling, and he says- “Wait, stop, get out, stop.” Pete leaves and lets Gerard get his breath back.

“Sorry, man.” Gerard doesn’t have anything else to say for himself. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him and shakily runs his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down.

“You’re good.” Pete looks concerned. “I know it’s tough, but you’ve gotta work through the fear at first. Then you can build up a defense. And trust me, I won’t pry. Just beaches.”

“Just beaches.” Gerard repeats.

“I’m gonna try again.” Gerard shivers as he feels Pete back in his head and there’s flashes of memories going by- standing in muggy hot Florida, on the beach at night, only the distant hazy orange glow of street lamps in the distance and the silvery curve of the moon lighting up the waves in front of him. Then he’s in South Carolina on a bike, gawking at all the huge beach houses, then he’s licking an ice cream cone in Virginia Beach, then his mom is rubbing sunscreen all over his face in Orlando and then he thinks- NO. NO NO NO, he feels the presence of Pete hanging about in his head and  _ hates  _ him, just like he hates Donna, wanting him  _ out  _ of there- NO, he wants him OUT, GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!!!

And Pete goes. He looks surprised and swallows hard, like his mouth has gone dry. 

“Nice, Gerard.” The look on Pete's face is both impressed and apprehensive. “That was good, dude. That was really good.” They spend the next hour fighting each other around Gerard’s head and by the time they’re done, both are breathless and raw and unguarded. 

“You did a really fucking good job today.” Pete says with the bright eyed look of an addict as he stands in the doorway and sees Gerard off. Gerard wonders how long he’ll be gone before Pete pops the top of his next drink.

“Thanks, man. And thank you in general, I guess. For doing this.”

“Of course.” Pete’s face softens as he looks at him and he presses his lips together. “You deserve better than what’s happening, you know. You don’t deserve this.” Those words sit with Gerard as he travels back to downtown Toronto, thinking more about what Pete had taught him rather than his upcoming date.  _ I felt you,  _ Pete had said about meeting him at David’s Tea.  _ You don’t deserve this,  _ Pete says before closing the door on him. 

Gerard’s always felt sick and scared when it comes to magic, feeling as though something’s sort of wrong with him for it. Keeping it his dirty little secret. And since Frank has been part of his life, well. Magic’s gotten bleak. Magic tastes like blood and looks like a noose around his neck. Pete’s changing that. Amy’s changing that. Frank is changing that. Frank with his wet mouth and silver nose ring and red Converse and a sex drive that won’t quit.

Anxious Frank Iero who doesn’t like going to shows alone and smokes cigarettes to calm the tornadoes in his chest. Anxious Frank who jumps his knee up and down and whose quiet hazel eyes dart back and forth, keeping track, watching. 

Frank. 


	14. Lose Some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major apologies for the contrast between the beginning & ending parts of this chapter :( 
> 
> cw for attempted suicide further along in the chapter (nothing graphic but still! be aware)

The Art Gallery of Toronto is crazy looking.

The outside of it looks like a massive twisted up solar panel that stretches hundreds of feet in the air as it curves towards the sky as the rest of it arcs in a banner back towards the street. Frank looks small underneath it, waiting outside with his leg propped up against the wall and a cigarette between his teeth. Gerard watches him from across the street and feels an undeniable yearning that comes with the feeling of complete adoration.

“Yo!” Frank says familiarly when he sees Gerard walk up next to him. His cheeks are pink from the cold but his grin is familiar and he drops the cigarette, crushing it out with his shoe like he’s forgotten all about the need for it. “How’re you?” He asks, falling into step as they walk into the gallery.

“Great, man. Good things are happening.” Gerard says this in a bright way that makes no sense to Frank, but he agrees regardless. He’s having a good day all the same.

Gerard rambles to Frank about African spirituality and the big exhibit they’re about to see while they wait in a long, slow line for tickets.

“You sound like the textbook definition of an anthropology student.” Frank tells him with a familiar smile. “Going on about religious systems and indigenous cultural entities of worship…” He waves his hand dismissively but he’s got Gerard down word for word, and that’s what counts. 

“Okay, you’re one to talk. What’s your major?” 

“Social work, minoring in psych.” Gerard doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but it’s definitely not that. 

“Dang, you want to be a social worker?” 

“Yup.” Frank responds easily enough. “I was in the system, so. In the U.S., but still. Canadian foster care can stand to be improved. ”

“Oh.” Gerard then doesn’t know what to say. “Where are you from?” They’ve almost had sex and they don’t know where each other is from. They’ve done it backwards, gotten drunk and high and locked lips (and more than that) but here’s a first date and getting to know each other. 

“New Jersey.” Frank makes a shrugging gesture. “‘You dream it, we’ll tax it’.” He quotes, and Gerard snickers.

“Nice. Better than Georgia, though.”

“You’re from the  _ south?!”  _

“That’s what they all say! What gives?”

“You’re so  _ emo _ .” Frank boxes his shoulder playfully and the sudden contact makes Gerard feel like he’s floating. 

“Still, our catch phrase? Without Atlanta, we’re Alabama!” 

“Shut up, you want a better one? New Jersey: come smell for yourself!” 

“Georgia puts the fun in fundamental extremism!” 

“Jersey- leave your dreams at the border.” Their war of states is abruptly cut off when they reach the top of the ticket line. “I’ll pay your way.” Frank says quickly, earning a defensive and confused look from Gerard. 

“I can-”

“Nah, dude, I’m playing gentleman.” So Gerard lets Frank pay. Vows to pay him back later, somehow. The tickets aren’t too expensive, and they get student discounts, but Frank tells him that he made plenty from promoting the gig, although Gerard isn’t too sure. 

The art is good, anyways. It’s pretty crowded in the museum and Gerard is glad that Frank knows how to get a move on. Ray has dragged him around plenty of museums and spent hours poring over every individual exhibit and selection, reading down to the fine print of any description he sees. Frank isn’t like that. Frank might stare at something for a while but he doesn’t stare at  _ everything  _ for too long, and they move through the museum at a decent pace.

The one that Frank stares the longest at is a display of Inuit sculptures. 

“This is kinda surreal, huh? Mystical.” Frank says, pointing at a statue of a polar bear. 

“Totally.” Gerard agrees. They look for a long while, until Frank pulls away. The African spiritual stuff is great, and Gerard takes down the name of the artists who worked on it, wanting to do more research when he gets home. Gerard’s favorite room in the whole museum is one with a ceiling made entirely out of intricate and beautiful stained glass. The floor is soft and there are huge bean bag type cushions spread all over the floor.

“Shit designed to be viewed while laying down is  _ my  _ type of shit.” Gerard announces as he throws himself to the floor, landing soft on a big squashy cushion. Frank sits down next to him, close enough for Gerard to send an electric current his way, and neither of them mention the way they get goosebumps or how the fine hairs on their arms stand up when they get that close to one another. They lie back and look at the stained glass ceiling for a long, long time. Gerard stops thinking about the ceiling maybe a minute after first contact. 

He thinks about how Frank Iero sort of makes him want to be a saint- worshipped and praised and everything holy. Blood clean as a razor, shiny and oh so bright, sober and starry eyed and divine. Worthy and righteous. He wraps an arm around Frank, who bites at his lip ring and gives Gerard a soft smile that’s halfway warm. It’s good to lie there and think about things that are right. 

🝡

“You’ve never had a beaver tail!?” Frank laughs out loud again, a loud and rolling sort of laugh that lights up his whole face.

“Stop calling it that, man!”

“That’s what they’re called! It’s like a huge piece of fried dough with all sorts of sweet shit on top. Nutella and M&Ms, or whatever. It’s a beaver tail! It’s a Canadian thing!” Gerard argues back, laughing all the same. They’re standing outside the gallery, catching the last flickers of golden orange sunshine before the sun sets. The cold isn’t so bad today, but Frank still pulls his thin coat tighter around him. Gerard thinks about offering his own thick down jacket, but he isn’t that good of a person. It’s still under five degrees outside, which is plenty cold to southern-raised Gerard. 

“It sounds so… it’s fucking… it’s-”

“I know what _beaver_ means, but this is a beaver _tail_!” This sends Frank into another peal of laughter. “I can’t believe you’ve never even heard of them! Tell me you’ve had poutine?”

“Of course I’ve had poutine, jesus!” Frank responds defensively, still smiling as though he’s never going to stop.

“Well, fuck it, then. We’re going to get beaver tails. Stop laughing!” Gerard shoves Frank as they start down the block, Frank elbowing him back good naturedly. “D’you mind the walk? It’s half an hour down to the Bayfront.”

“No problem.” Frank always has an easy answer for Gerard, and Gerard loves that. They link arms so they can keep their cold hands in their pockets and wander south, moving clumsily as Frank steps on Gerard’s feet, causing Gerard to kick out at him. It’s a brilliant walk down there. Gerard feels like conversations never, ever stop with Frank and they could talk about anything forever. But forever only lasts twenty five minutes before they enter the red roofed grail of Beavertails. Frank laughs his ass off outside and takes a picture of it, much to Gerard’s dismay. 

“This is so inappropriate.” Frank says as he stares up at the menu. “Plus, this shit is way bad for you.”

“Do  _ not  _ let me hear you say that again.” Gerard tells him in a serious voice. “I love sinking my teeth into a juicy beaver tail.”

“I’m going to go crazy.” Frank says after another (more subdued) fit of laughter, wiping suppressed tears from his eyes. “What do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing up at the menu on the wall. 

“I’m getting the brownie one.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ve got a sweet tooth!”

“That’s for sure!” Frank ends up getting the one with Cookie Crisp cereal on it, and they take their food up to the little bartop with seats high enough to let their feet dangle off the ground. Gerard tries not to stare at Frank while he eats, because eating beaver tails is an incredibly messy experience, which Frank rationally attacks with a fork and knife while Gerard just puts the whole thing in his mouth. He gets chocolate all over his face and Frank laughs out loud at the sight of him, face smeared in delicious hazelnut spread. 

“You want a fork?” Frank offers, holding up his own.

“I’m no pussy.” Gerard responds, taking another big bite. They eat a bit longer (Gerard cleaning up his face and resolving to be a little neater) before Frank laughs a little nervously and says-

“So this is our first date, huh?” It’s oddly true. They’ve partied together, bowled together, gone to a gig together, but this is the first official date they’ve gone on. Art gallery and beaver tails. 

“Guess so. What, should we play ‘get to know me’ games?” Frank shrugs but shifts in his seat to face Gerard.

“I don’t know much about you, honestly.”

“Ask me something.”

“Um… what’s your favorite movie?” 

“Uh,” Gerard laughs, “I have really bad taste.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.”

“Is it wrong that my favorite movie is Superbad? Mostly because Seth Rogen looks really fucking sexy in it?”

“Shut up!” Frank yelps, that bright grin bearing back on his face. “You’re serious? With that pornstache?”

“Gimme a break! What’s yours?” 

“Well, I’ve always liked Moonrise Kingdom. Anything by Wes Anderson, honestly. Did you see Isle of Dogs? Made me cry.”

“Nah, I should, though. I’ve seen Moonrise Kingdom and Fantastic Mr. Fox, now that was a good one. Show me Isle of Dogs someday, how about?” 

“I’d be happy to.” A brief pause. “Now, ask me one.”

“Dream vacation destination?” Frank pauses, his black plastic fork hovering in the air. 

“Hawaii.”

“Oh, nice. Yeah, that’d be dope.”

“What’s yours?”

“Japan.”

“Oh,  _ nice! _ You could hit both, Hawaii on the way to Japan.”

“True!” They go back and forth like that for a long time, asking questions about each other and learning silly, stupid little things like hopes and dreams and plans for the future. Frank wants to be a social worker because his own childhood was something he wouldn’t want any other kid to live through. Gerard feels a bit lame when he confesses about having nothing that really makes him passionate. Yeah, anthropology is fascinating, but it’s hard to find a career out of that, but Frank tells him genuinely that he knows he’ll become something. 

They talk about places they’ve been in Canada and the States. Gerard’s mostly stuck to the coastline but Frank tells him about Chicago and Columbus while Gerard tells him stories of the sun stained beaches of Florida and the backwoods of Tennessee, buzzing with life and animals. They talk weed and their go-to drinks (Gerard lies easily, saying his is an espresso martini when he’s only had it once) and Frank confesses that he loves a good mojito but he’ll take a gin and tonic if he’s trying to look cool. They talk hobbies (art, music, tattoos and piercings), they talk random shit they always end up buying at the store (those neon orange crackers with peanut butter in them, Red Bulls), and they talk perfect days.

Gerard memorizes Frank’s. 

It goes like this: He’ll wake up at 11 in the morning because it’s plenty late, but not yet considered afternoon. He’ll eat greek yogurt and granola and berries for breakfast and then he’ll go for a bike ride, or a walk, or go do something outside on a sweat hot day and spend the whole damn day outside. He’ll make a place his own- either wandering somewhere familiar or exploring a new location. He’ll find new places that he’ll remember to come back to sometime, and at night he’ll either go to a concert or eat dinner at a restaurant with outdoor seating because summer air conditioning is always too fucking cold. He’ll watch the sun set and come home late, smoke a joint, and play a board game with someone. Then bed. And he’d love to wake up and do it all over again.

Gerard’s perfect day consists of McDonalds for breakfast and thrift shopping and other stupid things, but Frank’s sounds picturesque and well thought out and it makes Gerard want to cry because he wants to bring it to life so badly. In the summer, maybe. It’s the first week of January and Gerard is wondering if he could concentrate hard enough to get an entire heat wave to roll through Toronto, just to make Frank happy. 

Frank looks happy now, at least. He looks hot. He must have shaved the sides of his hair recently but Gerard hasn’t noticed until now, and the unshaven layer in the middle looks freshly washed and fluffy, unspiked by gel, like it had been the night of the gig. It falls over his face and makes him look less punk and more hipster. He’s wearing an oversized camo button down shirt open over a gritty black t-shirt displaying some punk band logo. There’s little circular pins on the big pockets that sit symmetrically on the green shirt. He wears Pokeball plugs in his stretched ears and his silver lip ring glints appealingly from the corner of his lips. He says:

“I’m thinking of getting a nose ring.” Gerard thinks it’s the best idea he’s ever had. Gerard thinks he would tell Frank just about anything to see him smile.

🝡

Gerard and Ray are in love. Not with each other, mind you, just in love.

“She’s just  _ dreamy. _ ” Ray gushes, red faced with a very abstracted look in his eyes. Gerard’s seen pictures of Christa. She’s got huge almond shaped eyes that are a warm green color, and has a charmingly crooked smile with dimples in her cheeks when she grins. She looks like the type to smile a lot. Like Ray. “You’ve got to meet her, man, you should come down to New York with me on spring break and meet her.”

“Hmm,” Gerard muses. “Maybe, we’ll see. I’d like to, she does seem very dreamy. Frank’s dreamy too, although I’d say he’s kind of concrete. He’s very  _ real _ .”

“Well, she would be real if she didn’t live eight hundred kilometers away, my god.”

“I don’t know what kilometers are!” Gerard choruses in a sing-songy voice and Ray rolls his eyes. It’s a week after Gerard’s date with Frank and school is back in session. They’re standing in their favorite Timmies right before close, getting coffees so they can get on top of their work back in the dorm. Their drinks are called up and the two of them wade back through the blustery snow with coffee cups clutched tightly in their hands as though the harsh wind might be able to steal them away if it blows hard enough.

They’re carried back to the dorm in a flurry of snow and rush up the stairs with the energy of students who are about to be freshly caffeinated and get hardcore into their schoolwork. Gerard’s taking a few new classes this semester, this first one being about psychology and the law. They have a quiz on this book about the militarization of police forces that Gerard was supposed to have read over break, and he’s planning on studying Frank’s shared study guide while reading the book.

It turns out, despite being a massive stoner and a badass punk rocker (not that those aren’t symbols of intelligence), Frank is smarter than Gerard could ever hope to be. He doesn’t half ass his work and genuinely cares about the topics he learns about. Gerard had never really talked to him in book and media studies, and is now glad that he’s dating him, because he gets to use his study guides. Gerard doesn’t mean to leech but Frank’s study guide is just so thorough, and he’s just a little bit excited to look through it tonight.

Until Pete calls. 

Ray has opened up his huge music production textbook and has clamped his big headphones over his ears, highlighter poised like a weapon in his hand. He doesn’t hear Gerard’s ringtone, probably blasting EDM beats at top volume, and therefore can’t eavesdrop on the conversation that Gerard won’t be able to get out of his head for days to come.

“Yo…” Pete slurs, sounding like a disaster. 

“What’s up, dude? I’m kind of busy right now, I’ve got a shit ton of work to do-” 

“Ohhh, nevermind, then.” 

“Wait, what’s up though?” Gerard already feels bad for trying to dissuade his friend, who hardly ever calls him. “Are you okay?”

“Nah… but it’s okay. I’ll be okay.” His words roll together the way they always do when he’s drunk. 

“I’m supposed to come by tomorrow after class, right? For lessons, or whatever? We can talk then?”

“Hmm.” Pete hums down the line. “Yeah, tomorrow. Right.” Gerard needs something to reassure him that Pete is actually okay, because he really doesn’t want to drag himself across town tonight. Like, that’s the last thing he wants to do tonight. 

“I’m worried man, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m just drunk and lonely, it’s fine, don’t stress. Sorry about this.” 

“Pete-”

“Don’t stress, bro!” Pete’s using that classic deflection tone- the one that says “I’m totally happy and chill and making it seem like  _ you’re  _ making a big deal!”, one that always works on Gerard. Anyone else would call it reassurance. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“For sure, dude. Tomorrow.”

Gerard sees Pete tomorrow, but it’s not the way he thought he would. He takes the quiz and eats lunch with Frank and goes to all his classes and then heads off to Brimley, hoping that Pete’s sober enough to open up about what’s eating him. 

It doesn’t go that way at all. 

Upon entering Pete’s apartment, it seems that anything Gerard had cleaned up a week ago has all found its way back onto the floor, and then some. There’s bottles everywhere and the few decorations around Pete’s house have been smashed. There’s a hole in the wall. Mugs and plates are broken in the kitchen. 

“Pete?” Gerard calls, hoping that his friend is just passed out in his bedroom, wasted and sleeping. He tiptoes into the living room, broken glass and shattered ceramic crunching under his shoes. The stuffing has been torn out of the sofa. It’s a picture of destruction. “Pete!” Gerard calls, deciding to finally bite the bullet. 

The door to the bedroom is wide open and Pete is curled up in his bed, shoes on, over the covers. Innocent enough to look like he’s sleeping. He’s turned on his side and Gerard takes the scene in: peaceful Pete lying on the bed like he’s just gone down for a nap, the liquor bottles lying next to him like the perfect cuddle partner, the empty pill bottles on the bedside that had probably gone down smoother than a glass of water. 

Gerard stands frozen in a flashback, thinking Pete is Mikey and this can’t be happening all over again. A dead brother, a dead friend- someone who’s been protecting him dying, someone who had given a reason to live leaving their entire life behind. Gerard can’t move, can’t breathe, stares at Pete lying still on the bed. 

Then he screams. He screams Pete’s name over and over, shaking him, watching as his eyes don’t open, his mouth doesn’t move into that typical reassuring grin- he doesn’t change or move or come back to life and despite it all, Pete’s always been  _ alive.  _ Gerard calls 911 and screams down the phone that his friend has tried to kill himself and he’s not breathing, lips are blue, and it feels so much like the last time that he made the call that after the operator assures him the EMTs are coming, he sits down on Pete’s bed and cries.

“You stupid fucker!” He screams at Pete, hitting his motionless friend. “You stupid, stupid fucker! You should have told me! You should have fucking told me! I would have come over in a second! In a fucking instant, I would have! You know I would have!” Gerard is sobbing now, out of control and unaware that he’s shaking Pete’s unconscious body as he berates him. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Pete, fuck you! You’ll be lucky to fucking wake up!” When the EMTs bust through the door of the apartment, Gerard is still screaming. 


	15. You Can't Have My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i (virtually) graduated high school today which was mega exciting so i'm very stoked about that. in my excitement i sat down and wrote lots of stuff, so have this very sad chapter that i apologize for. (because i'm... in a very thoughtful & weird place currently as a graduate with a very wide open future and not a lot of things to with it at the moment)
> 
> cw for some graphic stuff abt suicide and self harm 
> 
> alsooo!! after i wrote this chapter i thought abt about some lyrics that fit it oddly well. "you can't have my friends, you can't have my brothers, you can't have me" from the song "cigarettes & saints" by the wonder years which i really recommend you listen to while reading this if you'd like a good cry

Pete hasn’t died, but that’s hardly any consolation to Gerard.

He sits in the waiting room of the hospital and feels like hurting someone. The doctor had come out and told him that Pete had overdosed but his stomach had been pumped and he would be fine. Physically, at least. She had come back a few hours later to tell him that Pete was awake, and Gerard could see him if he liked. Gerard had declined. She had come back a final time to tell him that Pete was choosing to stay for a psychological evaluation and go through inpatient treatment in that hospital, so Gerard could come back another day to visit, if he’d like. Gerard had nodded and she had left him. Hasn’t been back since.

It’s late at night now. Gerard had texted Ray that Pete had tried to kill himself and they were both at the hospital, but hadn’t provided any other details. He had turned off his phone and forgot about it. He had sat with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, head tilted back to lean against the wall, eyes shut tight, trying to get his mind under control. 

She’s back in his head full force, teasing him with images of his wrists slit to bone and he can’t get them out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. Maybe he should check himself in to hang out with Pete for the psych evaluation, right? He feels crazy and suicidal and like even if he wanted to call Ray, he wouldn’t know how to move his arms to do it. Gerard feels like the second he tries to move, it’ll be in a self destructive way, to do something awful. To do something regretful. To do something like Pete did.

Gerard can’t believe his mother. He can’t believe she’d tried to take away the one person who had given him hope that he would be able to live a normal life. Pete’s lessons in defensive magic had given Gerard a false hope that the future held promise, but now it’s all stripped away. He’s so full of hurt and anger and pain that there’s no space to think of good things like sunshine and Frank Iero, god, anything but Frank.

Gerard sits still for hours longer and wonders vaguely what he’s supposed to do now. Time is passing without him there and he knows that he has to get up at some point and move, but it seems impossible. Everything seems impossible. He can feel his mother’s thoughtful influence on his own ideas and they all seem to revolve around hurting himself or killing himself, so he stays put. He’s too upset to work any of the defensive magic that Pete had taught him- he’s too upset to do  _ anything.  _

It’s two in the morning by the time he manages to take his phone out of his pocket. The screen is still cracked, and he turns it on to find a string of panicked texts from Ray, and one from Frank. It had been sent at 8:30 at night, and all it said was “Want to come over? ;)” and Gerard feels tears building in his eyes as he looks at it. Fuck this. He wipes the tears away and texts Ray the name of the hospital he’s at before turning his phone off again, choking back the hot tears in his eyes. This is hell. 

Gerard thinks about suicide. He doesn’t have any good pills to overdose on, but there’s some Benadryl and a few packets of NyQuil back at the dorm, so he could always try those. Benadryl would kill him, he knows. He would take all of it, swallowing the little pink pills and watching as pink stars would float around the dorm room- walls like an acid spill, the world tilting like he could feel the true gravitational pull of it. His axis on a tilt. He could curl up and bed as his eyes would swirl different colors and then close, finally, and blissfully. This would all end- the torture from his mom, the guilt of ignoring Pete’s call for help the previous night, the relationship he’s not allowed to have with Frank.

He could hang himself, too, but that’s a bit primitive and Ray would have to cut him down, which would be an awful thing to make him do. Still, what happens after his death isn’t what matters. He’ll be dead, so there’s no more worries. Gerard knows how to tie a strong knot and is sure that the weight of a rope would hold him tight enough to snap his neck and leave him dangling from the light fixture. Or maybe not.

Maybe he could cut up his wrists in the shower and bleed out in a soothing spray of warm water. That’s calming. That’s nice. That’s what he’ll do- he’ll take Ray’s box cutter with him to the bathroom once he gets home and he’ll sit on the floor of the shower and manually untangle his veins, cutting through the glue and breaking through the skin to the warm, gushing rush of blood underneath. Deep red, down his arms, pooling in the water, taking him away on a river of hot water and blood to wherever he’ll go next. Heaven? Hell? Nirvana, or a next life? Well, it doesn’t matter where he’ll end up. What matters is that he won’t be alive anymore.

Gerard is crying silently into his hands with the desperation of someone who doesn’t have control of their own mind when Ray bursts into the waiting room, breathless and frozen. 

“Gerard!” Nurses watch as he breaks the distance across the room to where the man in the black jacket is sat, and has been sat, for the past few hours. The nurses on duty have watched him go through what look like four out of the five stages of grief and have been trying not to watch him break down, and they all feel an intense relief when this savior bursts through the door like an angel- wearing robes that look like an Arcade Fire hoodie and a halo of a frizzy afro encircling his head. Ray Toro.

“Gerard, hey.” Gerard’s suicidal breakdown is interrupted by none other than Ray Toro and he looks up at the familiar face of his friend, a face that usually makes him feel warm and comforted. But today, he’s paranoid. When he sees Ray, all he can think of is him being the next one lying in a hospital bed- dead or alive. Mikey, Pete, then Ray, then Frank, then Lindsey and one by one she’ll kill off everyone Gerard has ever loved. 

“Oh, no.” Is all Gerard says before burying his face in Ray’s shoulder, thinking that even if his friend might die next week, at least he has him now. Ray is the best. Ray is absolutely the best friend in the world. He makes Gerard walk a few blocks out of the glowing hospital into the dark, frozen streets of the city to get some fresh air in him and doesn’t make him talk. He only forces Gerard to speak to establish that Pete is alive, not dead of his own accord, and that’s good enough. Ray doesn’t drag Gerard onto the metro and instead calls them an Uber, which takes a while to come because it’s two in the morning in a suburb of Toronto. 

Gerard doesn’t say anything while they wait. He doesn’t say anything when they get back to the dorm, and he sits blankly on his bed while Ray sits across from him, plainly exhausted. Gerard’s thoughts are still a mess of paranoia, incredibly graphic suicidal thoughts, and guilt. Lots of guilt. He doesn’t know how to speak anymore and can’t think of what he would say if he did. 

So, like usual, he says something stupid.

“Ray.” The person in question is lying on his back with his legs crossed, scrolling through his phone. He rolls over to face Gerard, who is still sitting at the edge of his bed, wondering if it’s not too late to go slit his wrists in the bathroom.

“What’s up?” 

“I really need to take a piss but I’m afraid if I go down to the bathroom I’m gonna find someone’s razor and cut up my wrists and die and I really don’t want that to happen.” Ray stares at him, studying his face like he’s trying to find out if Gerard is serious. Of course he’s serious.

“Well, I can come. Stand outside, make sure you come straight back. No killing yourself.”

“Okay.” Gerard replies in a broken voice, wishing he were stronger than this. Ray follows him down the hallway and does what he said he’d do, waits. Gerard’s guardian angel.

That night, Gerard manages to clear his thoughts enough to realize that if there’s any time that he needs to put Pete’s training into use, it’s now. He can still feel his mother’s nagging presence in the back of his mind, waiting for any good thoughts to come and immediately preparing to crush them out. Gerard lies in bed in the foreign darkness of the dorm room and prepares himself for the mental beatdown that he’s about to administer to his own mother.

He baits her, first. He considers Frank’s innocent text from earlier in the night.  _ Want to come over? ;)  _ It had been four words and a stupid emoji, but the emoji had a clearly set a more sultry tone for the whole meeting, and Gerard scrutinizes that a winky face truly means when it comes to the bedroom. Does this mean making out, having Frank’s wet hot mouth with that silver lip ring against his, feeling the cool metal underneath his tongue? Or is it more, is it getting each other off and turning Frank’s sheets sticky and messy and then-

Then Donna is back in his head and she’s angry. Gerard has a sudden vision of himself in a coffin and after that, he gets a red haze over his eyes and feels set to kill. He claps down on the thought of Frank’s bed with the black sheets and the tattooed man who sleeps in between them- he puts his foot down on that thought and says  _ NO.  _ He waits, tense and trembling, the way he got when fighting Pete out of his head. Again:  _ NO. _ And then:  _ YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!  _

He can physically feel her power waning against his red hot anger and he harnesses the feelings from before, the painful guilt of not being there for Pete, the incurable frustration of his inability to have a proper and normal relationship with Frank, and the crushing self hatred that he hadn’t had this time last year, but has now. Because he hadn’t been strong enough to save Mikey, not selfless enough to help Pete, but this is it. This is the last straw.

_ YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!  _ he screams inside his head, knowing that she can hear every last word. Gerard doesn’t yet realize that he’s practicing a form of telepathy, a highly advanced sort of magic. He doesn’t care.  _ YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM AND YOU CAN’T HAVE ME EITHER. DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU CAN’T HAVE US. LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME ALONE AND GET OUT OF MY HEAD, GET OUT OF MY HEAD, GET OUT!!!!  _ Gerard doesn’t wait for her to leave. His head is throbbing with a strange, magic pain and he erects a mental wall around the people he loves in his head that says DONNA LEE WAY: SHOOT THIS BITCH ON SIGHT and then loses consciousness. 

🝡

Gerard wakes up in the morning to the sound of Ray’s voice. Ray is usually the considerate type in the mornings but he’s got the door cracked and is talking to what has to be Brendon Urie in an exasperated type of voice. It’s only when he works the door shut and turns around does he realize that his roommate is awake and trying to listen in.

“Morning,” Gerard says, stretching widely before opening Ray’s Star Wars curtains on the day, filling the room with sunshine. “What did Brendon want?” Ray looks surprised to find Gerard in such a normal mood, but doesn’t comment on it.

“He was asking after you, actually. I didn’t know you were awake. I got you breakfast.” Ray tosses a familiar brown McDonalds bag at Gerard. While Frank’s favorite breakfast might involve granola and fresh berries, hippie type shit, Gerard’s consists of two McDonalds sausage biscuits and a caramel iced coffee sweet enough to rot his teeth. Ray knows him too well. 

“Thanks.” Gerard opens the bag and isn’t surprised to find exactly what he wanted inside: two sausage biscuits. Ray hands him the iced coffee in exchange for his own food from the bag and sits down across from Gerard on his own bed, unwrapping his egg McMuffin. Breakfast of champions. 

“How’re you feeling?” Ray asks through a mouthful of food. 

“Better,” Gerard replies truthfully. “Safer.” His whole life seems to revolve around either being safe or not- caught in the terrifying in between where anything could happen. “I’m sorry about last night.” He adds grudgingly, but Ray waves away his apology. 

“It’s all good, don’t even worry about it.” Still, there’s a little bit of an edge to his voice and Gerard realizes how little Ray actually knows about the whole situation. He’s got to be curious about what’s happened and is just too polite to ask about it. “Are you gonna visit Pete?” He asks with that low-key polite inquisitiveness.

“Not today.” Gerard sighs, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Later. Next week, maybe.” A pause. “I was freaked out because I thought my mom tried to kill him.” Ray looks at him curiously. “But I think he’s just an alcoholic and tried to kill himself.”

“Is that better?” Ray asks. 

“I mean, I guess. I don’t know. It’s not good to be suicidal and an alcoholic.”

“No.”

“But it’s good that my mom isn’t trying to kill my friends.” Gerard voices the fear out loud and Ray’s eyes are watchful on his face. “And I was freaking out because I thought she would try you, and then Lindsey, and Frank. I mean, you haven’t been feeling like someone’s mentally trying to manipulate you into killing yourself lately, right?”

“Nope,” Ray responds easily. “I’d let you know if I did.”

“Good, then. Great. Nothing to worry about. I was just panicking, then. So it’s okay now.”

“Is it?” Ray’s question stops Gerard short, and he gives his friend a long, contemplative look. 

“Yeah.” He finally decides. “It is.” After finishing his deliciously unhealthy breakfast, Gerard goes for a self-harm free shower and changes into a respectable outfit to go see Frank in. Ray is set to spend the day with some music-nerd friends of his in a recording studio, and leaves before Gerard does, telling him to call if he needs anything with the casual air of someone not trying to make a big deal about being worried. Gerard’s grateful, yeah, but knowing that Ray’s feeling a little edgy about him makes him feel bad. 

He hadn’t told Ray the full extent of all the suicidal thoughts that had worked himself into a dissociative state the other day, and knows that he won’t. Ray only sees the surface issues and doesn’t press at the ones beneath. He wouldn’t like to know the inner workings of Gerard’s mind. No one would. Especially not Brendon Urie, whose door Gerard knocks on on his way out as a means to be polite. 

Brendon opens the door just a crack, his perpetually apprehensive face appearing in the thin doorway.

“Oh, hey.” He says in a voice of clear relief when he sees Gerard on the other end. Brendon eases himself out of the doorway and holds it just cracked behind him, speaking in a conspiratorial low voice. “My roommate’s had weird people coming in and out all day, I think he’s selling drugs.”

“Oh.” Gerard doesn’t know how else to respond, so he smiles. “Weird, huh? Well, I’m not a customer. Ray said you were asking about me?” Brendon perks up at this in the bright eyed, puppy dog way that he always seems to. 

“Right, I didn’t know if you were in. I was wondering about the message in a bottle thing, if it worked.”

“Oh,” Gerard repeats, now in a different context. “Yeah, it did. A little, I guess.”

“Good.” Brendon looks him up and down and Gerard feels a little awkward, remembering Brendon’s question from so long ago-  _ are you single? _

“How’s Ryan, then?” Brendon breaks into a grin at this.

“Good, yeah, he’s great. We watched the fireworks on New Years’, it was so romantic! How was yours?”

“New Years? Also good, also romantic. Good time.”

“I’m glad!” Brendon doesn’t say anything after that and Gerard could wince at how awkward their conversation is, now regretting even stopping by to say hello. Brendon never wants to let a conversation end and is immeasurably difficult to get rid of. He sends up a little prayer for Ryan Ross at landing the clingiest guy in the entire university. 

“Well, I’ve gotta run. See you around, don’t let your roommate get you busted!” Gerard’s walking away as he speaks the words and sees Brendon’s face become even more worried at the idea of being busted, but doesn’t get the chance to reply as Gerard disappears down the stairwell. It’s a bright skied day but cold as ever, and Gerard doesn’t find the obscenely slippery walk to Frank’s dorm as funny as it had been on New Years Eve. High highs and low lows. Gerard’s life is a rollercoaster that never comes to an end. He’ll just keep spinning around in loop-the-loops, dizzy and wanting more than anything to have his feet flat on the ground- safe and unharmed.

Frank’s presence gets him nearly halfway there. 

“Heyo!” Is the first word out of his mouth and he’s so silly and perfect that Gerard feels instantly better as Frank springs off the couch. The living room of the suite looks different in daylight- a little dingier and a little homier. The walls and floor are all dark walnut, scuffed and unpolished, with a very worn rug taking up most of the floor. Two stained windows let in enough sunlight to light up Frank’s handsome face and he gives Gerard a wicked smile while asking- “Want to step into my office, Mr. Way?”

Frank climbs up onto his bed with Gerard behind him, but not in a mood for whatever Frank has in mind.

“Had a busy night?” Frank asks, dispelling Gerard’s ideas that he just wants sex. He’s pissed at being ignored by Gerard but is petty enough not to ask him directly about it. 

“Yeah, my friend tried to kill himself, so I had to take him to the hospital.” The look on Frank’s face merges from shock to regret very quickly, and he takes back his words instantly.

“Jeez, man, sorry, I had no idea! Is he okay?” Frank leans forward in a listening posture and Gerard feels that familiar warmth that comes with Frank Iero. 

“Yeah, he’s… he’s okay, I guess.” Gerard trails off absently, for once lending some time to feel empathy for Pete. He doesn’t know jack shit about Pete’s personal problems and what had caused him to overdose, but he wonders if the guy would’ve been better off if Gerard hadn’t called an ambulance and had let him lie there undisturbed, finally at peace to drift out of his life. But man, that’s not right. He’s twenty two, there’s so many years ahead of him. Gerard couldn’t have let him end it so soon. It’s not fair.

“You want to talk about it?” Frank asks, and he’s not wanting to know as a formality. He’s opening up the floor to Gerard who usually puts his brave face on and will listen to everyone without burdening his own problems onto someone else. And so he says yes. Frank asks if he wants to smoke up and he says yes to that, too. Frank produces a dirty pipe and jar of bud, making familiar motions as he grinds up flower and packs the bowl. 

Gerard keeps his jacket on and sits real close to Frank in front of the small window at the head of his bed, blowing smoke out the window as they light up in silence. After three bowls each, Frank shuts the window and packs the weed away while Gerard starts talking. His head feels hazy and his tongue too big for his mouth, none of the words grating much as they leave his mouth. He doesn’t talk about magic but talks about everything else relating to Pete and the phone call and walking in finding him laying on the bed like a bad memory and Frank listens patiently, nodding and mhming, eyes red but serious.

It feels so good to finally tell someone about his worries, someone who listens without judgement and without fear. Frank sits next to him and lets him talk it out, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he doesn’t make Gerard feel bad for laying this all on him. He’s patient and he’s understanding. Gerard’s too high to describe how grateful he is for Frank in the moment, but he thinks that Frank knows. Wordless, just through the way he doesn’t break eye contact. Frank knows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo! this hit 1k reads and im shocked and also so grateful!?! 
> 
> also massive shoutout to legit everyone reading & commenting- it absolutely makes my day to read through comments and im sorry im anxious and shitty at replying but i read every single comment and go batshit when ppl have nice stuff to say so thank you all so so much <3


	16. Heart Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for discussions of suicidal thoughts and just plenty of angst in general 
> 
> i cried a little writing this bc i sort of gave gerard a relationship with his mom that i have with my own. shoutout to everyone with shitty parents who are still here despite it all <3

Gerard Way is usually a pretty rational guy.

But having his nerves put to the test by his alarmingly abusive mother at all times of day leads him to come to terms with the fact that he might be having a heart attack on his walk back home from Frank’s dorm. It’s evening now, he’d spent the whole day talking nonsense with Frank, and had felt pretty okay about the entire situation but the painful hitch under his armpit had caused him to stop walking and force himself to take deep breaths as his heart seizes up with enough tension to terrify him.

That’s the problem with his mental warfare. His mom always manages to catch him off guard so he’s not prepared to fight her off, and he’s focused on taking shallow breaths around the pain, but every time his lungs contract there’s another sharp ache and he can’t physically breathe anymore. He has no clue if this is actually a heart attack or just some game that Donna is playing, so he hobbles to the nearest bench and dials the number of the best person to talk him down.

“What’s up?” Lindsey yells over the line. There’s loud music in the background and Gerard can’t stop himself from groaning down the line, desperate and sick.

“I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Give me a sec!” She calls to him, yelling at someone in the background. He tries to focus on the sounds on the other end of the line as Lindsey moves rooms, but the pain in his chest is feeling worse and worse and he’s woozy with pain. “You’re what?” 

“I’m,” Gerard wheezes, clutching pathetically at his chest, “having a heart attack.” 

“No the fuck you’re not!” Lindsey replies in the incredulous way that he knew she would. “You’re nineteen! Nineteen year olds don’t have heart attacks!” Not unless… “Not unless their moms are psychotic bitches, but then, is it really a heart attack? Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” Gerard groans pathetically, hunching over as the pain washes through him in waves. Fuck his mom, fuck his heart, fuck everything. 

“Well, go to the hospital if you’re for real!” Somehow, Lindsey feels more unsympathetic and unhelpful than usual, and Gerard hangs up on her without a further thought. Fuck Lindsey, too, if that’s the case. It’s started to snow and Gerard heaves for breath as the soft flakes come down over his head. He forces himself to focus on the pain and take it apart in his mind- gasping for hugely exaggerated breaths as he mind-maps where it hurts.

His chest, right under his armpit, feels so tense like he could  _ snap,  _ and he closes his eyes and  _ surrenders,  _ gives in to the fiery crushing pain in his heart and lets the snow fall on him while he sits on the bench for seconds, minutes, hours, who knows how long and wonders when his heart will finally suffer an arrhythmia great enough to kill him. It never does. Gerard’s teal and black hair is covered with a crunchy blanket of snow and he blinks flakes off his dark lashes when he finally opens his eyes, feeling the crest of pain recede like a wave. 

The University of Toronto campus looks a dark blue in the low evening light, lit by the occasional flickering amber streetlamp. He’s cold and lonely and would like to give in again, would like his mom to wrap her vice grip around her heart again and  _ kill.  _ He’d like to tempt her into it, beg her to get it over with instead of holding this torture over his head for any longer. Because she’s sending a clear message and he understands that at the end of the day, he’s doing this to himself.

But it hurts. It really hurts. It hurts to know that his own mother hates him enough that she would hurt him this badly. That she doesn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for him, that she’s so narcissistic that his own pain is a victory for her. During high school, Gerard had built up a shield to not let her get to him anymore, because he had been manipulated and gaslit and put through the paces of emotional abuse enough to know how to numb it out. But he’s weary and fed up and wishing more than anything that he just isn’t her son. Because he hasn’t felt like it in a long, long time, and he knows he never will again. 

The supposed heart attack doesn’t come back for the rest of the day. That’s not much of a relief, because when a message goes unheard, the best way to get it through is to keep sending it. 

Gerard’s late for his psychology of law class the next morning and rushes into the class with an apologetic look on his face, hurrying to his desk in the middle of the room while trying his best not to knock against people’s desks and upset anyone more than he already has. Gerard lives his life as the best imitation of a distraction that he can find, but this morning he feels like shit and had been considering skipping class for a while because of the heaviness in his stomach that associates with the unfamiliar feeling of anxiety. 

Frank’s an anxious person. Gerard’s not.

Frank sits a row in front of and a seat over from Gerard, and fixes him with an open, curious look, while Gerard doesn’t make eye contact with him for fear of what might happen if he does.

Consequently, Gerard is overwhelmed with a sickening feverish sensation and doesn’t listen while his professor paces back and forth at the front of the classroom, speaking words that don’t make it into Gerard’s head. He’s focusing on not throwing up. He’s focusing on the bruising pain in his chest that makes him feel like he’s just been punched and gotten the wind knocked out of him. He hunches over his desk feeling like a walking heart attack, a walking  _ panic  _ attack, like he wouldn’t mind dying right there and then. Gerard’s thoughts shift away from what’s currently happening and to where the nearest bathroom is, or if he should just give a mighty ‘fuck it’ and use the trash can up at the front of the room.

Just the thought of vomiting is enough to get Gerard out of his desk again, just a few minutes after he sat down the first time, and he doesn’t bother with courtesy as he nearly runs out of the classroom, down the hallway and into the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet and retches on his knees, hating the choked feeling in his throat as he vomits and gasps for breath at the same time. Gerard brow is slick with sweat and he feels feverish and chilled at the same time. He rocks back on his heels for a moment and then throws up again, emptying his stomach into the toilet bowl. The vomiting ends but the heart attack feeling comes back and Gerard cries out with pain, gripping his chest as he sinks to the bathroom floor, thinking that it would be preferable to die, maybe, than put up with this any longer.

Gerard Way sits on the bathroom floor with his head in his hands and thinks about giving up. 

🝡

Gerard locks himself in his dorm room and cries when the heart/panic attack passes. 

He wonders if this is what Pete felt like before wandering into his bathroom to hold a full pill bottle in both hands and consider taking his own life. If Pete took a good look at himself in the mirror and came to the not necessarily selfish decision that life had become too unbearable to continue living. 

Because humans call each other self seeking when they take their own lives but when it comes down to the bare bones of being suicidal, there’s nothing more reliving than the idea of ending it all. It’s like cold water on a hot day, or a warm blanket when you’re freezing. Shade from the burning sun, or sitting down after a day on your feet. Relief.

Today, Gerard hits rock bottom in his bedroom and cries like he’s ten years old and his mom has abandoned him in a hotel to take care of his younger brother with no telling on when she’ll be back. Gerard cries like he’s seventeen years old and his younger brother had just been buried without a future to call his own. Gerard fucking cries like he’s nineteen and he’s being tortured in a way that pressures him slowly but surely towards suicide because if he can’t be his own person and lay in bed next to Frank Iero with stars in his eyes then he doesn’t know what the point is.

Then Ray comes home and all hell breaks loose.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He asks, dropping his bag and moving across the room in a fluid, concerned motion while Gerard moves back across his bed, defensive and headachey and still sick. Still half crying.

“I’m fed the fuck up!” Gerard cries pathetically, dragging his hands down his face and leaving red marks in wake up his nails. “I fucking threw up in class and I’ve been having a fucking goddamn heart attack for the past two days, and literally all I can think about is killing myself and at this point, I don’t even know what the point is! What’s the point?”

“Okay,” Ray says without missing a beat in that infuriatingly calm way of his, “take a deep breath.”

“That’s not going to  _ help _ !” Gerard is screaming, now, his throat hoarse and raw with stomach acid as he spits venom at his best friend. “Do you think that’s going to help?! Taking a deep fucking breath?!” Right on cue, another tearing pain rips through his chest and he makes a noise of pain, gasping heavily as he leans over and presses the heel of his hand against his heart. 

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Ray asks, ignoring Gerard’s infuriatingly immature anger. 

“That- won’t-  _ help!”  _ Gerard shouts, every word tearing through him. The pressure in his chest is so heavy and painful that his vision turns into a vignette, fuzzy and dark around the edges. A migraine is pressing behind his eyes and he’s sweating buckets, his shirt stuck to his heaving chest and droplets snaking down his sweaty neck. “No one can help me, the only person who could was Pete and he just tried to catch the fucking bus so who’s left? How am I supposed to deal with this?”

“Leave Frank alone?” Ray offers, and now there’s just a hint of malice in his voice. His posture is calm but there’s a tension that’s worked its way into his tone: the tension of trying to reason with someone being completely irrational. Gerard loses his fight for just a moment, staring helplessly at Ray. “What do you want me to say?” Ray continues when he doesn’t get a reply, gaining traction. 

“I’ve been there for you through it all, I’ve always fucking listened, I’ve always been the one picking up the pieces of your breakdowns and I don’t know what to do! You keep telling me you’re gonna kill yourself and if you don’t go to the hospital then I don’t  _ know,  _ Gee, I don’t fucking know the solution! I love you and I don’t want you to die but you’re so fucking set on this! If she’s hurting you for getting with Frank, then leave Frank alone! I don’t know what else to say! That just seems like the reasonable thing to do!”

“But he’s my fucking _dream,_ you stupid fucking asshole!” Gerard screams wildly, dragging himself unsteadily off the bed and pushing past Ray on his way out. “Fuck you, you have _no_ idea what this is like!” Gerard doesn’t take a moment to put himself in Ray’s shoes. Doesn’t stop for a second to realize that it’s hard to watch your friend fall apart in front of you, to watch him lose his mind over something as stupid as a _guy,_ to watch him go through the motions of grief and suffering and pain and always being there for him except for when you can’t relate the way you’re supposed to. It’s not fair to Ray but Gerard’s too upset to care. 

He’s swaying wildly on his feet and his whole body feels like a feverish disaster, complete with chills racing through him enough to make him shake. He stands wavering in the hallway like a beacon of pain and misery. There’s a mental laundry list of people he could call up for help and then the reasons why he can’t. It goes something like:

  1. Ray, just behind that door- just called him a fucking asshole and he’s mad as hell and that’s not happening
  2. Brendon, across the hall- I’m his stupid fucking hero and I’m in the middle of a breakdown that is way too personal for him to catch me in
  3. Frank, across campus- I’d literally die, and suicide is out at this point
  4. Pete, in the hospital- it’s not good form to visit your friend in the mental ward and complain about your own problems
  5. Lindsey, somewhere in greater Toronto- too narcissistic and probably wouldn’t answer me anyways



The list isn’t looking too hopeful, but Gerard doesn’t want Ray to open the door and appeal to him with some rational form of compromise and apology. Gerard is feeling manic and one last person comes to mind. Ryan Ross.

A cold grey sky makes Gerard’s migraine even worse as he slip slides his way towards Innis cafe, head down against heavy snow pelting down, hands shoved in the pockets of his warm coat despite how feverishly hot he is. There’s hot tears and nasty snot on his face, mixing with snowflakes melting wet on his skin as soon as they come into contact with his burning face, and his hair is a sweaty, untidy disaster on his head. His breath has a warm puke-smell to it and his eyes are a hazy glazy red from all the crying and the bitching migraine turning his vision all sorts of different colors, each one more painful than the last.

It’s safe to say that Gerard has given up caring about what other people think about him. Not like he really did in the first place, anyways.

“Ryan!” He calls desperately upon entering the cafe, so relieved to see the dark haired boy behind the counter that he doesn’t take the generally quiet atmosphere into account. Gerard’s spent his fair share of nights hunkering down to get work done in Innis, but now feels unable to give a single shit about whose studying he may be interrupting. Ryan’s eyes widen at the sight of zombied out Gerard, but he’s naturally the calmest person Gerard has ever met and he clings onto that feeling as he wanders to the counter, wondering if he’s going to fall over because his head hurts so bad.

“I’m in the middle of, like, the worst fucking day of my entire life and I don’t know what to do,” Gerard utters desperately, feeling his stomach twist and roil, his hands shaking. “And I’ll kill myself if I have to be alone right now,” he continues, unashamed of everyone in the cafe listening to him, “and I need someone and I need help and I’m freaking the fuck out-”

“Gerard.” Ryan interrupts in his low, croaky voice. “Chill.” It’s almost like those two words change the entire day. Ryan shoves his disaster of a friend into the empty office in the back and makes him a huge cup of chamomile tea and leaves him there to simmer like the unhappiest soup in the entire world. Ryan doesn’t have class and has been working at the cafe since opening. His shift ends at five, only half an hour after Gerard arrives, and he returns to the back room while Gerard finishes his third cup of chamomile, wondering if this serene feeling is from the calming properties of the tea or Ryan himself. 

Ryan undoes his apron and bundles it into a ball. He’s wearing a green cable knit sweater underneath and beige khaki pants, like a stupid hipster. The square, half rimmed glasses he wears don’t help much either, and he sinks heavily into a shitty fold out chair and takes a good look at Gerard. 

“Are you better?” He asks as though he’s expected Gerard to magically mend himself in a half hour’s time. Though yes, admittedly, he is feeling a little better. With some time by himself, he had worked on fortifying the wall he had set up in his head against his mom, and the headache had lessened generally.

“A bit.” Ryan’s not much for conversation and just bites at the inside of his cheek while staring seriously at Gerard. Their silence is interrupted by someone bursting into the room, a very scruffy looking dude that Gerard is suspiciously sure is friends with Ray. 

“Hey.” He says, looking back and forth from Ryan to Gerard. “Had a good shift?” 

“Yeah.” Ryan responds slowly. He’s got a way with words. The scruffy dude drops a bag on the floor, sheds his double layer of coat and hoodie, pulls on an apron, and looks at them again.

“See ya, then.”

“Bye.” He leaves and Gerard watches him go, wondering how many words Ryan gets in edgewise when he’s out with Brendon. Ryan doesn’t mention the dude at all, it’s as though he’s never been there, and he turns his dark brown eyes back on Gerard. “Come on, then.” Ryan says finally, getting up from his chair.

“Where are we going?” Gerard asks, getting up all the same.

“To get drunk.” Ryan replies almost blithely. It’s a sentence much familiar to Gerard and he wonders if Ryan’s going to end up being another alcoholic friend who drinks himself into a hospital bed, but then puts that thought to rest. He’s done enough worrying for today. And Ryan’s sober now, that’s telling. Getting drunk will just make them both better.

🝡

Ryan’s a lot more talkative after some alcohol. 

His roommate, a biology major who had been stuck in a lab all afternoon, has an extensive collection of shot glasses, and Ryan pours them each a clear shot of vodka. One, two, three, down the hatch and then he cracks open a box of White Claws. Ryan likes the mango ones and Gerard likes the cherry, so they sit and knock them back while Gerard spills his guts to Ryan. He tells him about the magic, about his mom, about Frank and Pete and everyone dying and all of the bad things happening. His headache has lessened to a dull throb, his fever seems to have broken, and the nausea has retreated behind the easy warmth of alcohol.

Ryan sits behind his desk looking all official and Gerard is splayed on a bean bag barely in Ryan’s point of view, playing with the thing and loving the way the cushioning feels. Ryan’s a good listener and sits nearly silent for most of Gerard’s rambling, drunken sermon. Then he says something very strange.

“I’m magic too.” Gerard just assumes he’s drunk.

“Nah.” He slurs, tilting his can back and catching the final drops of syrupy, fizzy alcohol from the bottom of the can.

“Yeah!” Ryan says with a little more enthusiasm. “Look.” Ryan directs his vision to Gerard’s empty White Claw can and both of them watch as it crinkles and crumples into a flat circle without anyone touching it.

“Oh.” Gerard says.

“Yeah,” Ryan sighs, leaning to the box to get another can. “Should I shotgun this?”

“Yeah.” So Ryan rolls his desk chair forward to grab his keys from the desk and then stands up, poking a hole in the side of the can and holding the can out in front of him as the drink fizzles for a moment. Then he presses his lips to it and tilts the can and his head, gulping down the drink in a matter of seconds before shaking his head wildly and chucking the can in a random direction across the room. And it moves, then. The can changes direction midair and flies over to the trash can, dunking itself inside.

“Show off.”

“Can’t help it!” Ryan replies with a surprisingly sunny grin on his face as he sits back in the chair, a little unsteady from the sudden onset of alcohol. “You know, man, I think magic is the best thing to ever happen to me.” Gerard looks at him with interest. “Like, one day in like sixth grade, I was sitting in class and my teacher was like ‘okay, get out your notebooks,’ or whatever, but I straight up didn’t have a pencil, you know?”

“That’s rough.”

“Right, and I was a nervous little fucker and I didn’t want to ask anyone for a pencil but I  _ needed _ one, for notes!”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“So I was desperate and worried about getting this pencil and guess what happens?” Gerard pops the tab on a new can, too lazy to dig around for a cherry one and settling for raspberry. 

“You fuckin’... materialized one, or something.”

“No, dude! One flew from someone’s desk over to mine. In-fucking-sane. And then I had a pencil. It was epic.”

“I’m glad, man. It’s good to have a pencil.” Ryan nods in agreement and rolls the chair back from his desk, propping his feet up on it and sitting back contentedly. He folds his arms over his chest and takes a good luck at Gerard, who’s nearly lying down on the beanbag.

“Listen,” Ryan begins, cracking his neck as he stretches backwards. “You’ve been seeing the bad sides of magic because of your stupid fucking mom, no offense, but it’s not all bad, I swear. Like, I promise. And I know that you know that. And right now it’s destroying your life but it can be so good.”

“Better than pencils?” Gerard asks pathetically. Ryan throws his head back and laughs, softening Gerard’s heart. He’s only ever seen Ryan uptight and pissed off at work, never drunk and at home. So this is what Brendon sees in him.

“Way better than pencils, dude. Way better. It makes me feel like I can….” He trails off, running a hand backwards through his hair. He sighs. “It’s like sometimes I can glow in the dark, like I lie in bed and charge at night and then sometimes I fucking glow and it’s beautiful and I knew you could, too, because you sparkle. Like a fuckin’ vampire. And I glow. Magic is  _ magic,  _ man, I don’t know how else to describe it. But it’s there and it’s good and you can feel it in the air, like…. jeez…”

“Like static.” Gerard supplies, thinking of Amy, who crackles like the air before a thunderstorm on a humid night. Or Pete, whose smiles glints like sunshine on waves rolling in the ocean. Now there’s Ryan, who glows like a firefly- dark for the most part but sometimes lighting up so bright that it’s impossible to look away. And Gerard. Sparkles like a fuckin’ vampire. 

“Like static.” Ryan replies, his eyes dazed and far away. “You’ll be okay, Gerard, you just need to find the good in it. Go talk to your friend in the hospital, eh? That’ll make you feel better.”

“I dunno if it will.”

“Yeah, it will.” Ryan sounds very certain about this and looks back at Gerard, although he’s half cut and off in metaphor-land. “You’ll be okay. There’s a good in all of this. You’ll see.” 


	17. I'm Serious, I'm Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is the name of a jeff rosenstock song that really rocks and i highly recommend 
> 
> cw for a depressing conversation & some discussion of suicide

Snow is falling hard when Gerard leaves Ryan’s dorm feeling confused but somehow determined. There’s a few things that he has to do and one of them involves buying a pizza while the other comprises going to visit Pete in the hospital, which he’s still not keen on doing, despite Ryan’s wavery eyed insistence that it would make everything better. 

So Gerard goes for the pizza first, hoping to use it as either a weapon or shield against Ray Toro, who loves pizza and is also a menace when he’s mad. And besides, Gerard is decently drunk and feels like shit for blowing up at his friend so buying him a pizza is the best he can do. Domino’s is full of half blinked out lights that are working to get Gerard’s headache back on track, but he’s drunk and buzzy and sits contently enough in the empty shop until his food is ready.

Ray’s a Hawaiian pizza type guy because he’s got admirable tastes and Gerard gets garlic knots because there’s no better ingredient in the entire world than garlic, and he wanders back towards his dorm carrying the warm box that smells like ham and cheese and everything good in the world. When attempting to re-enter his dorm, Brendon doesn't come to his rescue and Gerard has to struggle with the locks all by himself. It takes a while, mostly because he’s drunk and carrying two boxes and it’s freezing outside, but Gerard staggers back to his dorm to find Ray sitting at his desk in a position so familiar and regular that Gerard almost wants to cry with relief that he’s even  _ there,  _ that he hasn’t done something ridiculous and impulsive like run away to New York with Christa because Ray is reliable and the best person in the entire world.

But Ray is angry. 

He looks up with dark eyes and an expression that should have caution tape strung up around it. Gerard looks at him apprehensively from over the stacked boxes and sees Ray’s expression burning and hot, making Gerard feel like he’s swallowed glass and gotten stabbed and done something really bad to deserve this. Which he has.

“I bought you a pizza!” Ray watches silently as Gerard opens the box to show that he’s not lying about it. And the pizza looks damn good, anyways, there’s a thick layer of cheese bubbling under the crispy bacon, pink ham, and yellow slices of pineapple shining like pieces of sunshine. And okay, yeah, Gerard gets ravenous when he’s drunk and there’s nothing that he’d like more than to eat pizza and make up with Ray, but his roommate just raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his chest. Fine, he’s going to make Gerard grovel. 

So he does. He sets the boxes down on his own desk, which has never been put to much use, and works up his best apology ever. The thing is, during freshman orientation, Gerard had attended a fascinating leadership seminar that had gone into great detail about how to apologies properly. So Gerard is killer at apologies, he really is, and pulls out all the stops on this one. 

“I’m sorry.” Ray looks at him with a guarded expression. “I’m sorry for swearing at you and acting as though you haven’t done anything for me, and being selfish and awful and rude, and I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for it.” Still radio silence from Ray. “You probably felt frustrated and pissed because you’ve done so fucking much for me and I was acting like you’ve never done a thing for me in your life. And you’re so selfless and so kind and you’re my best friend and I shouldn’t treat you like shit because you really don’t deserve it.” 

Now, Ray nods. There’s progress. Gerard continues.

“I honestly don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, and I’ve got some plans to fix things that I’m working on putting into motion and the first thing to do was to make things right with you, so I’m here with this pizza and you’re going to eat it. And I wish I could take back what I said but I can’t so I’m trying to make it better.” Gerard sighs. “And I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course I can forgive you, you stupid doofus.” Ray gets up and gives him a hug, surprising Gerard enough that he doesn’t return it right away. And then he realizes that he’s been forgiven, and that’s a great step towards better things happening, so Gerard hugs him back. 

“Fuck, you’re too good at apologies.” Ray admits when he steps back. The hard look on his face has softened into something much kinder and Gerard wells up with gratitude. “I’ll eat your stupid apology pizza.” They end up sitting across from each other on their beds, backs against the wall, facing each other. Ray tears at the crust of a slice and says:

“I think you should get help.” Gerard immediately thinks of what he’s been taught about ‘getting help’- meaning paying someone too much money (though maybe it’s cheaper in Canada, somehow) to listen to you whine about your problems and provide you with  _ their  _ ideas of solutions that don’t even work. Gerard thinks therapy is like throwing up on the floor and then asking someone to clean it up for you. ‘Getting help’ is for people weaker than him.

“No, I’m going to leave Frank alone from now on, I think.” Ray looks at him and knows that this is impossible, that Gerard is speaking in myths and fantasies. But Gerard is drunk and his fingers are greasy and garlic stained, his mind not centrally focused on how hard it might be to stay away from the one thing you love most in the world. 

Pete Wentz drinks seventy two ounces of beer a night and tells himself he can stop whenever he’d like; Gerard Way spends an average of three hours a day thinking thoughts about Frank Iero (if you add every second up) and tells himself that he can ‘leave Frank alone from now on’. Pete Wentz has spent the last few days in a state of feverish nausea, his chest tight with anxiety, his limbs stiff from sleeplessness, and his stomach queasy with knowing he won’t be able to hold down anything he eats. Gerard Way will spend the next few days hating himself for ghosting a guy he dedicates 180 minutes to thinking about every single day. 

🝡

Gerard’s spent a good amount of time in hospitals. He doesn’t remember much from his visits there, though. It’s like time and space warps a little inside of them, and real life doesn’t seem quite so real when there’s always something  _ bad  _ happening, something terrible and awful. Pete himself looks terrible and awful, like he’s been the victim of a vampire attack and has had most (if not all) of his blood drained. His face is pale, too pale, and there’s hollows in his cheeks that weren’t there before like he’s lost weight that he couldn’t afford to lose. Pete says:

“I think they’re trying to kill me.”

“Nah, I think your body’s trying to kill itself.”

“Who the fuck invented withdrawals, you know? Who thought it was a good idea?”

“Well,  _ someone _ thought it was a good idea to start drinking too much.” Gerard wonders if he sounds too insensitive, but Pete doesn’t get sad and self pitying about things like this, and just scoffs knowingly. 

“I wasn’t planning on stopping! I would’ve bought God a drink my first night in heaven.” And then Pete frowns with a half sad, half regretful looking expression like he’s thinking about life beyond life and still wishing he was there. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Or are you supposed to, even?” Gerard offers.

“You know, I really hadn’t been planning on it. I just had a really shitty day and came home and was like, fuck it? Why not?”

“Why was your day shitty?” 

“One of my clients, or whatever, was fucking left to sit in her own shit all day long because her daughter never showed up to help her out and no one called me until that night and I was half drunk already, but I went over anyways because who the fuck leaves her own senile mom to sit in her own shit for hours? Fucked, right? 

Well, anyways, I got the bus to hers and I wasn’t even on the clock or anything because I was fucking wasted and I cleaned her up and gave her a bath and gave her dinner, tucked her in, whatever, and it made me so goddamn fucking sad that we get old and can’t do shit for ourselves and our kids hate us and it’s a fucking nightmare. And I got more to drink on the way home and I was just so sad and I felt so bad about it all that I just… well, you know.”

“What’s your job again?” Gerard asks in a moment of confusion and Pete quirks his eyebrows, looking like he might laugh.

“A personal support worker, man.” A hesitation.

“And what’s that?” Now Pete does laugh, although it’s hollow, but seeing that rolling grin with the sharp teeth reminds Gerard that Pete although might be dressed in all grey, soft hospital clothes and looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, he’s still Pete- just sober and fallen on hard times. 

“Jeez, that story must’ve sounded weird without context, huh? I basically just help out old people or people who can’t take care of themselves, but they live on their own. Make dinner, give meds, clean up, the like. This lady can’t walk, she’s got Alzheimer’s, uses a wheelchair, but she couldn’t get up. So.” 

Gerard stares at Pete, who performs the most selfless job in the entire world, and had tried to kill himself because the prospect of ending up having to be cared for by a twenty something alcoholic with his face scared him so goddamn much. 

“You need to be so patient to do that, don’t you?” Pete shrugs.

“I’m plenty patient. It’s not a bad job, honestly, it just makes me sad sometimes. Being left all alone, you know. Unable to do shit for yourself. I don’t want life to get like that.”

“So kill yourself when you’re eighty, then. You’re not all alone now.” Pete looks away, his eyes flashing and hesitant. “You know that.” But Gerard doesn’t know that. 

Gerard doesn’t know that Pete sat on the bus on his way back to his apartment and knew without a doubt that he was going to try to kill himself that night, that he didn’t want to see the sun shine ever again or ride another bus or perform another basic human action. He had a full bottle of whiskey in his backpack and had stumbled home, thinking about the pasta he had cooked for Mrs. Jennings and the way she had thrown her plate on the floor because she wasn’t hungry anymore and he had kept asking her to finish the food because she hadn’t eaten all day. 

And Pete had knelt down and cleaned up the shattered china, put it all away, and then helped her down the hall to her bedroom. He lifted her into her bed and turned up the heat so she wouldn’t get cold in the night and she had asked where Stanley, her husband (dead twenty years) was, and he had swallowed the knot in his throat and said that Stanley was out late but would be back soon because he didn’t have the heart to see the look of fresh grief on her face when learning for the hundredth time about the death of her husband. 

He’d memorized her reactions- how she would cry for a bit and then get very quiet and solemn. Then she would forget all about it and fall asleep. Pete had been sick of breaking the news. He had left her safe and sound and returned home shaking because he needed a drink so badly. And then he had sat on the couch and cried because he was a stupid fucking alcoholic who couldn’t go a few hours without a drink because it numbed him, made him feel better, and he had kept seeing a pill bottle flashing before his eyes and he had pulled out his phone to look at the contacts and debate who to call.

Because none of the faces from the party were the people you called during a suicidal breakdown, but then again, Pete had no one to call during this one. Not the guy he had called beautiful on a subzero day in David’s Tea, but he had been desperate with a sort of selfishness that begged wanting to be saved. And he had called Gerard and Gerard had picked up, but hadn’t offered to come over and help him. Gerard had said “wait” but Pete was too far gone to wait. 

Gerard doesn’t know that Pete’s face comes up in the dictionary next to the word lonely. Gerard doesn’t know how lucky he is for having a list long enough to count on both hands of people to call in the case that he himself wants to take his own life. Not everyone’s lucky enough for that. But Pete  _ is  _ patient and incredibly empathetic, and when Gerard confesses that he’s been feeling pretty low himself and knows his magic defenses are falling, Pete plays hero.

“You met Amy that night at the party, right?” Gerard nods. “Text her, man. She can help you out.”

“She can?” Gerard asks, thinking about the girl with the particolored eyes. 

“Yeah, she’d be happy to, I’m sure. Just ask, because you’ve gotta keep up practicing if you want to be able to fight it off.” Gerard knows this much is true, and he had been broken down so far after Pete’s attempt that he hadn’t had the time to batten down the hatches on his mental defenses against his mother. But there’s a hesitation associated with confessing the long, drawn out sob story of his life and he looks down at his hands, twined together on the table.

“I just don’t want to have to tell her all this shit.” 

“I have to sit around and discuss my fucking suicide attempt and depression and bipolar bullshit with a bunch of strangers and doctors every single day, so you shouldn’t complain.” Gerard looks up at Pete, surprised by this outburst but being humbled by it at the same time. 

“Sorry.” They say in unison and Pete smiles his now-familiar hollow grin, getting his words out first. “You don’t need to tell her everything, anyways. Don’t overshare.”

“Right.” 

“Just trust her, trust yourself, whatever. You’ll be okay.” Pete has this easy way of reassuring Gerard and it works just as well today, even though Pete himself is broken down and weak. Vulnerable. 

“You will too, man.”

“Yeah,” Pete sighs, looking thoughtful. “I’m out of here at the end of the week, and I’ve been thinking about what to do.” Gerard thinks it’s so strange that someone will try to kill himself and he’ll spend two weeks in inpatient and then be let back into the world like nothing’s changed. “I’ve been thinking about rehab.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats. “Like, a whole month’s type shit. Because I’m sick of drinking. This detox was fucking killer and I never want to go through that again.”

“Yeah, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Pete’s eyes crinkle in a momentary smile, then return to dark and pensive. “But a month’s sober should do it, don’tcha think?”

“Yeah, it will. I think rehab would be good for you.” Gerard tries to be reassuring in the same way and it seems to work. Pete nods decidedly as though he’s made up his mind on the issue, and for once, Gerard is proud of him. 

🝡

Gerard adapts a new sort of schedule as January wears on, and he isn’t quite sure how he feels about it. He skips his psychology of law class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings because it’s the only time where he’s scheduled to see Frank. And not seeing Frank hurts but having heart attacks hurt even worse, so he uses that new time to throw himself back into his schoolwork with a disturbing fervor that has “DISTRACTION” written all over it.

The thing is, Frank doesn’t text. He used to, sometimes, used to ask if Gerard wanted to come over or would send him a song to listen to, but now there’s nothing but static from his end and it’s relieving enough that Gerard doesn’t have him texting him, but he fucking hurts because he’s such a goddamn  _ bad  _ person for ignoring the dude he had been dating.  _ Had,  _ past tense, like he just needs to put their relationship on hold for a few weeks until he can figure out how to kiss Frank without pulling away feeling like he’d much rather not wake up tomorrow. 

So instead of texting Frank, he texts Amy and tells her he needs help with defensive magic. And she’s happy to help, just like Pete said she would be. Gerard goes to visit her on a Thursday afternoon when he’s feeling plenty low because his psych professor emailed him about the absences that have been piling up the past two weeks. 

Pete’s in rehab now, and he will be until mid February so Gerard changes his route from Brimley to the Junction instead, west instead of east. He doesn’t like all this change, he’s coming to realize. He misses things the way they were, except now he doesn’t feel like throwing up every hour but he also doesn’t feel giddy with love, the way he did around New Years’. Now he feels like he’s fighting in a losing war and every single battle is another fucking loss because he’s ruined this one perfect relationship and it’s not even his own fault. 

Well, sometimes he wins. Sometimes things work out in very small, pleasing ways like the way Amy’s apartment is way closer than Pete’s was, and how hers isn’t empty and cold and strewn with empty bottles and casual reminders of painful addictions. Amy has two roommates and actual furniture and cool decorations that only girls know how to properly work with. She’s not drunk and wild like New Years’, but she’s still wearing a beanie and her eyes still make Gerard feel dizzily drunk with magical feeling. 

He spends two and a half weeks going to her apartment on the days where she’s free, at odd hours, to do magic. Sometimes he’ll get on the train close to midnight, and other times he’ll head over in the few hour break he gets between classes. But Amy’s just as good at Pete when it comes to the lessons and Gerard always leaves feeling like his brain has been Windexed and wiped clean- a little stronger, better, and brighter. 

He spends those two and a half weeks avoiding Frank but listening to his radio shows all night just for the sound of his hoarse voice that had told him “fuck me” not long ago and now doesn’t tell him anything. But Frank has changed too. Near the end of his two hour show, he used to talk up all sorts of subjects like school and shit happening in his life. Gerard had been so excited when Frank mentioned the gig they had been at together, and then New Years. It’s all always music related, he doesn’t go in depth with stories of personal life, but it’s enough for Gerard to know he had been there too.

Now, Frank doesn’t talk about his life at all. He’s just another talking head (or voice) from the radio and says shit like: “ _ This _ band dropped their new album last week and  _ this _ is my favorite track from it” and he’ll say the name of the band and the song and then play it and it’s just like he’s anyone else. He doesn’t laugh down the line anymore. Gerard imagines him sitting by himself in the studio with nothing but a grim look on his face and Gerard hurts for him and misses him in a twisting blur of guilt and desire. 

All of this reaches a climax point on the last day of January when Gerard’s professor sends him a follow up email. Gerard hates emails and he hates emailing professors even more, so getting hounded about missing all these classes is getting on his nerves so he finally bites the bullet and shows up to class. 

It’s hell. He has to sit in his desk and squirm around nervously while his professor stands up there and lectures, glaring down his glasses at Gerard because he’ll talk to him after class, not before. And Frank is there. When Gerard had sat down, Frank had shifted in his seat and chanced a glance backwards towards Gerard, who had stared down at his desk and avoided all eye contact. And Frank’s face had tightened in a way that doesn’t look so good on him and he had turned his face back up towards the front of the room. Like Gerard was just another ugly stranger that Frank would rather not see.

Two confrontations take place that day, and the first is with Professor Belanger. 

“I don’t care how much work you’ve been turning in online, you still need to show up to my class,” he says without any beating around the bush once class has cleared out and Gerard is left feeling small and stupid under the beady little eyes of his professor. He’s very tall and very bald and looks like some evil scientist from a kid’s movie. 

“I’ve been dealing with some personal issues lately,” Gerard says, not bothering for all the formalities. 

“Then you should have emailed me.” But fuck, Gerard hates emails. 

“I know, I should have, and I will if this happens in the future. I’m sorry, and I’ll be attending class again. You can fail me if I don’t show up again.” Belanger gives him a long look that must be associated with Gerard’s ability to apologize like no one’s business. Then he says “okay” and Gerard is left to leave, feeling a warmth of relief as he exits the classroom and is immediately captured by Frank Iero.

“You’re talking to me.” He says in a voice most unlike his own- harsh and forceful.

“Am I?” Gerard responds cluelessly, enough to get Frank mad and he’s pulled down the carpeted hallway to the side stairwell that no one uses. It’s freezing inside the concrete stairwell and Frank slams the door behind him, giving Gerard a little shove forwards so his back hits the wall.

“I’m fucking pissed at you.” Frank crosses his arms over his chest and man, he looks so cute when he’s angry that it’s hard for Gerard to take him seriously. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m mad.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard blurts and Frank frowns even further. No, he doesn’t look good at all when he scowls.

“I didn’t even tell you what I’m mad about!”

“I know what you’re mad about!”

“Well, I don’t need you to tell me. I’m gonna tell  _ you _ .” Frank hesitates like he’s waiting for Gerard to interrupt again, but he doesn’t. He leans back against the hard concrete and thinks this would be an awfully nice place to kiss someone after a painful psych class, but doesn’t say it out loud. Frank’s not in the mood to be kissing him.

“I’m fucking pissed because you’re stringing me along.”

“Oh, no.” Gerard can’t help it, the words just fall out.

“Shut up, I’m talking.” That’s valid. “You were head over fucking heels for me, gawking at me, watching me, going on about my radio show, and then you came to the gig, and then we made out and it was epic. And then we basically had sex and then we went on the nicest date ever, and then it was like we were properly dating and then you  _ ghosted  _ me, you fucking ghosted me! What the fuck?! I was falling for you!” Dang, that hurts. 

“And I know you were going through it, with your friend’s attempt and that was hard for you but you can’t just ignore me! You talked to me about it and I thought it was fine! It has nothing to do with me!”

“No, Frank, none of it’s your fault.” It’s the typical ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse, but this isn’t a breakup and Gerard doesn’t know what to say. “I’m really fucking sorry, I really am, things have just been really hard recently and I just needed a break-”

“Without discussing it with me?”

“A break from  _ everything,  _ Frank, not just you. From fucking life.” Now Frank looks worried. “There’s a fuckton going on right now and it was bad, really bad, when my friend went to the hospital and it made things worse and I had, like, a breakdown and I didn’t want to get you tangled up in it and I  _ know  _ that’s not an excuse but there’s some things I just can’t tell you yet and I’m sorry but it’s personal and shitty and I’m just working through it.” All in one breathless sentence. Frank uncrosses his arms. 

“It was wrong to shut you out and I’m so sorry and I just think we might need to take things sort of slow but I still want to date you because you’re the best and I just keep fucking things up and I’m working so hard on making it better.” Another flawless apology from Gerard Way.

“Okay,” Frank says thoughtfully. His hazel eyes flicker up and down Gerard’s face. The light from the window is cut in half on his face, keeping his eyes and the bridge of his nose lit up while his lips rest in shadow. “Okay, man. That’s okay.” The feeling of relief returns, but now so strong that Gerard’s knees feel all weak. He doesn’t even feel sick at this close contact with Frank, because Amy works him hard and he’s getting better, day by day. It’s all getting better. 

“Fuck, do you want a hug?” Gerard offers, and Frank’s face is split by a grin that Gerard would like to have on file in his mind for the rest of his life.

“Fuck yeah.” Frank hugs him tightly and Gerard thinks of his own broken promises. He won’t let go this time. 


	18. Grapefruit & Rose Quartz

Valentine’s Day is a major opportunity for guys and girls to strut their stuff when it comes to planning gushy romantic dates and getting awesome gifts that their partners will put somewhere in their room and look at to make their heart beat double time for years to come.

Gerard had taken his lesbian girlfriend in high school on a date to Denny’s on Valentine’s Day senior year and she had sat in her car and cried afterwards because she was so depressed. He remembers the hoarseness of her voice, the way her glasses reflected the streetlight outside and how she had said something that made him feel sick- “I don’t want to live like this anymore, but I don’t want to die.” 

She had driven back to her house and parked the car outside so they could go for a walk. It had been in the 50s outside and she wore shorts and a t-shirt because she missed hot weather, and they had smoked the cigars she had stolen from her dad’s dresser drawer and sat at a picnic bench in a dark park, woozy with nicotine and hating their lives. 

He had slept on her floor because he didn’t want to go home and she had been trying to keep up appearances of having a boyfriend, but she wouldn’t even lie in bed next to him. He had stayed for fear that she might kill herself but both of them had woken up the next morning. She had cut up a grapefruit to eat for breakfast and he remembers the bitter juice of it and the taste left on her lips when she had briefly kissed him goodbye.

Citrus, strawberry chapstick, Colgate toothpaste. 

Gerard thinks about Frank’s perfect day and thinks about how to plan the best Valentine’s date ever, but he doesn't have any good past experiences to go off of at all and ends up at Innis, soul searching for ideas with Ryan, who’s in the same boat as him.

“Brendon hasn’t told you anything?” Gerard asks. Both of them are sitting at a table close enough to the counter that Ryan could hop behind it if a customer presented themself, but it’s nearly closing on a Wednesday night and Ryan’s exhausted enough to not give a shit anymore. He’s drinking coffee, Gerard’s drinking tea, and they’re sat across from each other like it’s a date. 

“I think he’s planning a surprise,” Ryan confesses, looking as contemplative as ever. “I don’t really care. I don’t have shit planned. Want some Skittles?” He’s produced a family sized bag of candy from his backpack, and Gerard holds out his hand for Ryan to drop a handful in. 

“Me and Frank haven’t even discussed it. And it’s two days away! I don’t have shit for him!”

“Buy him chocolate? I got Brendon some chocolate.” 

“Yeah, I might. What kind?”

“Assorted stuff. In a heart shaped box, cute, like Nirvana. Frank’s into music, right? Get him a heart shaped box.” 

“Right, I’ll just buy him a box.” 

“Put something inside, I mean! Candy, or concert tickets, or something.” 

“Or something.” Ryan scowls at Gerard and picks some yellow Skittles out of the bag, chewing them loudly. “Should I find a show on Friday, then? Do you think?”

“You know, Gerard,” Ryan starts, looking like he’s about to start on some hippie-dippie tangent, “sometimes you’ve gotta just roll with it.”

“It?”

“Life. You’re too stressed about this. He’s probably planning something or talking with his friends about how stressed  _ he  _ is about this, and you’re gonna make it worse by being all worried. Since when have you worried?” That’s a fair question.

“Well, I sort of fucked things up with him and I need to fix them.”

“Valentine’s Day isn’t going to fix an entire relationship.”

“If I plan the perfect date, it might!” Ryan fixes Gerard with a look that says he’s getting too pressed about something that matters so little, and Gerard figures he agrees. Because Gerard’s never  _ had  _ a perfect date, he’s got shit luck sometimes and things often turn out wrong even after extensive planning to practically ensure they work out how they’re supposed to. Gerard asks Ryan if he’s had a perfect date and Ryan sits back in his chair and tilts his dark eyes up to the ceiling, that thinker position he works his way into when he’s about to talk a lot.

“Junior year of high school, I was dating this older guy that I met on Tinder.”

“You were- what- seventeen?” Ryan scoffs.

“As if. Sixteen.” At the confused look Gerard gives him, he continues. “My birthday’s in late August. Lied about my age on the app, who cares. He was eighteen, so it’s fine. Anyways, this dude wanted to take me to a ferris wheel for Valentine’s. But the nearest one was down in Seattle, and that’s a four hour drive and we had no car. So we took a trip. It took, like, two and a half days and he lost his passport for a bit and we had to take this ferry across the sea but we made it and we rode that fucking ferris wheel and spent a weekend in Seattle. So that was pretty ace.” Ryan smiles while recounting the story and looks at Gerard in his half dazed, dopey way.

“Where’d you live?”

“Up in Victoria.”

“Oh, cool.” 

“It’s fucking beautiful there, I miss it.” Ryan confesses, popping a few more yellow Skittles into his mouth. 

“I bet.” Ryan nods as he chews the Skittles and checks his watch like he’s done with the conversation. 

“Better get home, eh? And don’t stress about Valentine’s, Gerard, I’m sure it’ll be epic.” That’s always how Ryan ends his discussions, with some affirmation that everything is going to work out and Gerard thinks that that’s why he’s dating Brendon, because he’s found the upsides in life while Gerard feels like he’s floating precariously too close to the sun, and someday soon, the glue on his wings will melt away into nothing but thin air and then he’ll free fall back to where he was before. 

Ryan Ross chews the lump of yellow Skittles in his mouth and smiles without teeth, his face still warm and his brown eyes saying  _ you’ll be okay. _

As it turns out, he’s right.

Gerard’s phone rings as he trudges back to his dorm, and he fishes it out of his pocket to see Frank’s contact buzzing on the screen.

“What’s up?” He asks and is nearly spoken over by Frank, which hardly ever happens. Frank’s a listening type guy, not a loud talker.

“Listen! Dude! Gerard! Oh my god! Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m so glad you didn’t guess, I fucking hate it when people do that. Anyways, I won us tickets! On Valentine’s Day, how great is that, free tickets to a game, and I’ve been calling in to stations to try to win shit my entire fucking life and it’s finally happened! Holy shit! I always thought these things were scams for people who knew people at the station or something, but I’ve always tried because it’s like the lottery, sort of, except you don’t even have to pay anything and it’s not money or anything but-”

“Yo.” Gerard interrupts his rant. “What game?”

“Oooh!” Frank bursts out laughing down the line and his excitement works its way through the cell service from Frank’s phone to Gerard’s ear, and through the ear canal, into his brain, into his  _ heart,  _ turning him as warm and giddy as his boyfriend. “Maple Leafs versus the Devils, and it’s like how fucking lucky that it’s my team, right?” Gerard doesn’t know much, but he knows that the Maple Leafs make Toronto proud with their hockey and can draw the conclusion that the Devils must be from New Jersey. 

“That’s epic, totally epic. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a hockey game.”

“No  _ way _ !” Frank exclaims with so much enthusiasm that Gerard’s freezing hands feel instantly warmer. “Come over, how about? I can explain how it works. Or do something else, whatever. Doesn’t all have to be hockey related.” Oh yes please.

Gerard changes directions like a compass flipping in reverse and heads across campus to Frank’s dorm, thinking about the excited sound of his voice or the way his eyes turn green when he’s talking about something that gets him passionate. He thinks about the way Frank talks about different lives as though he’s had three in the past and is working towards the end of his fourth, about the way he crosses his arms diagonally over his head while taking his shirt off, or the way he rolls joints with a concentrated look on his face as he twists the paper over the pot and makes a neat work of it. 

Frank laughs and says stupid things in the middle of sexual activities to hide the fact that he’s insecure and Gerard has seen his grinning face and heard his hoarse laugh in the middle of a blowjob and hear the words- “this is the funniest BJ I’ve ever given!” while Gerard will groan in frustration and he thinks that it’s something like love that he can laugh along with it. 

Gerard opens the door to Frank’s dorm and sees his boyfriend lying on the couch wearing his possum sweater and grinning that devilish smile.

“Heyo! Today’s my lucky day, I won hockey tickets and get you for the night!” Frank says as he stands up, crosses the room, and kisses Gerard in a fluid motion that becomes something you memorize when your boyfriend swings by the dorm enough. They take familiar motions down the hallway and Frank slides open his phone, showing Gerard the digital Maple Leafs tickets. “How epic is this?”

“So epic! I was trying to think of a date to plan but I had no ideas.”

“Oh my god, me either! The world works in mysterious ways, huh?” At this point, Gerard is wondering if his own unconscious magic managed to score those tickets for them, but he doesn’t totally understand if that would be possible and leaves the thought in the past. They stand motionless for a moment with the door of Frank’s room closed behind them before Frank bravely bridges the gap, putting his hands around Gerard's waist to pull him closer, and moving his mouth against his.

Frank kisses openmouthed and Gerard moves fast against him, both of them clambering up the dresser to get onto the lofted bed. Frank helps drag off Gerard’s jacket while pushing him back against the wall, straddling him at the foot of the bed while Gerard runs his hands through the buzzed sides of Frank’s head, loving the tactile feeling of hands on shaved hair like  _ god,  _ he could do this all day. 

Gerard palms Frank through his jeans and Frank giggles like usual- an unfortunate reaction to getting groped and it doesn’t ruin the moment at all for Gerard, because he thinks laughing during sex is a very bold thing to do and it makes him all the more attracted to Frank. They tumble back on the bed, Gerard flipping Frank around to be the one on top of him and as they twist together under the faded lights of the dorm room, Gerard wants Frank. Wants him  _ more,  _ wants to feel him underneath him as their bodies swap sweat and he’ll fill him up and Frank will finally get the sex that he wants so badly and they’ll be perfect and happy.

But Gerard can’t fuck him. Not yet.

So they make out heavily and Gerard bites up Frank’s neck like the vampire Ryan says he is (shimmering, glittering, like the juicy inside of a grapefruit sparkling in the morning sunshine on a warm day in Atlanta) and turns his skin purple with the use of his lips, tongue, and teeth. Frank has a way with his hips and pushes up against Gerard, his eyes closed and wet mouth open, lips pink and soft, tongue ring a silver slice against his face. Gerard bites at the lip ring and Frank makes a loose giggling noise, slipping his tongue into Gerard’s mouth and tangling his hands back through Gerard’s hair. 

He keeps his hands in Gerard’s hair for a long moment when both of them stop moving against each other. Then they go down to Gerard’s pants and Frank undoes the zipper while his tongue pokes out in between those charmingly perfect teeth. The rest of the night goes like the two of them stripping off their clothes and throwing them on the floor because there’s nowhere else to put them and moving against each other in half naked variations of angels and afterwards, Gerard lies next to Frank and shivers under the covers of his bed when Frank cracks the window and moves over to it, cupping a cigarette in his hands as he lights up.

“You know I have a playlist of songs that just make me cry?” Frank asks. He’s twisted in an odd position, legs under the blankets but torso up by the window so he can blow smoke properly. It’s around one in the morning and they’ve turned off the lights. Gerard had put his shirt back on and curled up in bed after Frank had asked him to stay the night.

“Do you? That’s sad.”

“Sometimes I just listen to it to get me sad. I don’t know why.”

“What’s your favorite song on it?”

“I’ll look.” Frank doesn’t look right away. He finishes the cigarette first. He smokes Belmonts and Gerard’s gotten used to seeing the white and blue packaging. Like clouds in a blue sky. The sky is black now, but the inside of the bedroom looks dark blue. Calming and cool. Frank closes the window and flops back into bed, his breath smelling of tobacco and his eyes calm with the rush of nicotine. 

“You make me really happy.” Gerard says, and Frank turns over so he’s lying face to face with Gerard.

“You make  _ me  _ really happy.”

“You make me happier.”

“I could fight you on this and win.”

“I doubt that.”

“Whatever, wanna get sad?” Frank pulls out his phone and Gerard nods while the phone screen turns Frank’s face multicolored. “There’s this song by Radiohead, about some dude killing himself. That one gets me crying.”

“Oh, that sounds like a pick me up!” Gerard’s being sarcastic but Frank knits his eyebrows in an expression of worry. 

“You don’t want to listen?” Gerard wonders if Frank is sensitive about this because of the day they got stoned and Gerard lay out most of his soul to bare in relation to Pete’s suicide attempt, and then the fight in the stairwell where Gerard tried to confess his sad misgivings while dodging the fact that he himself was fighting off the urge to kill himself because of the abuse he’d been put through. 

But no. Frank doesn’t know about the deep dark bad parts of Gerard’s life, not to that extent. Not yet.

“No, man. Play me your sad songs.” So Frank turns on Videotape and the stark piano at the beginning darkens the look on Frank’s face. Gerard feels him curl up under the covers and he turns the phone off, leaving them in darkness. Frank closes his eyes and Gerard does too, listening to Thom Yorke lament over the solemn piano.

By the end of the song, Gerard feels shaky and lost. The lyrics are mysterious in their beauty and he wraps his arms around Frank’s smaller body while the words drift off into layered drums and piano:

_ No matter what happens now, you shouldn’t be afraid. _

_ Because I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen. _

🝡

After class on Friday, Gerard meets Frank at a bench dedicated to a woman named Lauren Palmer that lies in the middle of their two dorms. Frank is wearing a red and black hockey jersey that looks so fucking good on him that Gerard stares long enough for Frank to blush and kiss him to change the pace from staring. Gerard’s had a busy day of classes and hadn’t seen Frank all day, so seeing his pale face looking so excited and stupidly happy gets Gerard’s heart fluttering around in his chest.

“So, happy Valentine’s Day!” Frank cheers, stepping out of the hug that Gerard had bestowed upon him. “I got you a crystal.” He holds out a small, brilliant turquoise rock. “I did research! It’s amazonite.” Gerard takes the stone very gently and cups it in his hands, feeling his heart well up with gratitude. “Apparently it’s good for luck and hope and courage, or whatever. And you’re my lucky charm, so I thought I’d just capitalize on that.”

“Thank you so much.” Gerard’s voice is muffled by Frank’s jersey as he pulls him back into a hug, and Frank laughs a bit in surprise but returns the hug. Gerard makes this one longer. He believes in the power of hugs and squeezes Frank tight, moving him back and forth a bit. Frank smells like the heavy wood of his dorm room and laundry detergent and his sharp cologne and cigarette smoke. He smells like relief and Gerard pulls back grinning. He pockets the crystal and knows he’ll carry it every day.

“Another to add to my collection. I got you a heart shaped box.” Gerard pulls it out of his bag and Frank smiles while taking the big red box of chocolates out of Gerard’s hands.

“Like Nirvana, huh?” He laughs, giving it an appreciative look.

“Yeah, like Nirvana.”

“I would open it except I don’t think they allow open food in the arena,” Frank cautions, something Gerard is grateful for since he’s never heard of that rule.

“Well, there’s more than chocolate in there.” Frank looks at the box, and then back to Gerard. Gerard had found a concert worthy of buying tickets for, a very angry and poetic group called La Dispute that turns up on most of Frank's playlists. 

“We’ll make it a surprise, huh?” Frank’s patience seems to be a marvelous thing, since Gerard wouldn’t have been able to go longer than a minute without knowing the extra surprise in the box, but he’s got his gifts. Frank tucks the box back into his own bag and swings Gerard’s hand gaily as they begin their walk downtown to the arena. It’s about a half hour walk but Gerard loves it anyways. The weather isn’t too bad, and he loves walking and talking with Frank. Frank who hears the familiar clatter of Gerard’s pockets and laughs good naturedly.

“Those are gonna give security a rough time.”

“Ha!” Gerard snorts at the idea of him taking out his wallet, keys, and ten different crystals to put in the little box to slide around the metal detectors. “Whatever, they’re helpful.”

“What do they do?” Gerard uses his left hand to fumble around in his pocket and pulls out a few of the small stones.

“Well, I’ve got some opal. That’s for openness in love and desire, ha,” he blushes when Frank gives him a knowing look. “And amber, which is a good luck charm for love. This one’s bloodstone, for courage, or whatever. I usually carry this one.”

“Ooh, Devil’s colors.” Frank jokes, reaching his hand out for the stone. Gerard gently presses it into his palm and Frank looks at the black stone in his hand, shot through with red. “That’s cool. Oh, that’s rose quartz!” He exclaims, pointing at the last pink rock in Gerard’s hand.

“Yeah!”

“That’s the sexy one!” Gerard’s face heats up.

“Yeah.” Frank drops him a wink and Gerard shakes his head while smiling, feeling oddly bashful.

“Any others?” Frank asks, and Gerard tugs at the protection sachet around his neck. He changes out the crystals on it from time to time, and he’s taken to wearing bloodstone and obsidian next to the small pouch of protection herbs. 

“Obsidian. For protection.”

“From what?” Frank asks immediately, easily curious and open.

“Just, life, you know. Bad things.” Gerard’s vague about it but Frank just raises his eyebrows and doesn’t press any further.

“So you have like a shit ton of crystals and stuff? And you know all the meanings?” Gerard nods. “You’re like.... superstitious?”

“Yeah.” Gerard doesn’t know why, but he’s afraid Frank’s going to make fun of his crystal healing bullshit. Say something about he’s a realist and believes in life taking place naturally, but he shrugs easily and says- 

“You should teach me about it sometime.” There’s a very relieving sense of hearing that sentence, because Frank brings in relief and safety and all sorts of good feelings to Gerard in waves of warmth. Like when he told Gerard that he’d have to show him Wes Anderson films one day, and now how he’s talking about things they’ll do in the future in a concrete sense. It reassures Gerard that he  _ will  _ make it to the future. That there’s a bright summer sunshine waiting for him, one where he can watch indie movies with his boyfriend and wear crystals around his neck that don’t protect him from anything because he’ll be  _ safe.  _ He won’t be weak and vulnerable.

He won’t be afraid. 

He won’t push Frank away in the bedroom with stupid shaky hands and make up another excuse about why he can’t have sex and they’ll have to continue jerking each other off like fucking fifteen year olds who absolutely shudder at the thought of anal and are too embarrassed to look each other in their lovestruck eyes. But today, Gerard’s got to take it a step at a time

The hockey game passes in a blur of Frank looking hot in his jersey and screaming at the players on the ice which makes Gerard laugh but he also finds endearing. They don’t drink because Gerard explicitly has a feeling that Frank is going to make it a no-excuses night for having sex, but they have a brilliant load of fun as Frank explains how the game works  _ while  _ it works. Their seats are nosebleeds but the screens are big enough for them to see what happens. They get super salty popcorn during halftime and Frank shows off by throwing pieces into the air and catching them in his mouth.

The Maple Leafs win and Frank seems to be the only one in the arena brave enough to boo the away team. Gerard cheers for the Leafs because he’s technically a Torontonian now and Frank sticks his tongue out at him when Gerard gets off his feet to jump up and down and cheer at the final goal that wins them the match.

“I can’t believe I brought you to a hockey game and you cheer for the bad guys.” Frank tells him as they pick their way down the seats and out of the arena, and Gerard can only laugh. He’s in a buzzing good mood and Frank is obviously feeling the same way because they giggle the whole way back to Frank’s dorm before they start kissing. It’s a dumb struggle of a stumble up the stairs to Frank’s dorm and they arrive in his bedroom breathless and already half out of their clothes, unable to keep their hands off each other and moving back and forth in a wet hot tangle to their familiar position on the bed.

Gerard enjoys foreplay but he’s fucking  _ horny  _ and Frank is so fucking goddamn hot and after maybe twenty minutes of rolling around the bed: biting, sucking, licking, kissing, Gerard can’t stand it anymore. Neither can Frank.

“ _ Jesus,  _ Gee, what’s up?” Frank asks, the affectionate nickname not lost on Gerard, who leans back breathlessly. 

“What’s up with what?”

“We’re sober, we’re horny, we’re consenting adults, what’s stopping us from fucking…  _ fucking _ ?”

“Ugh.” Gerard hadn’t necessarily meant to make that noise but Frank’s eyes widen and the liveliness seems to leave him as he frowns and crosses his arms in that pouty way, sinking back into a cross legged position. Both of them are only in their underpants and they make a funny scene there, two half naked guys about to have a brutally honest conversation about sex.

“I know you don’t want to, I guess, jeez… and I don’t want to pressure you-”

“You’re not pressuring-”

“But  _ why? _ ” Frank asks and Gerard sighs, understanding that their sexual passion has been lost. Gerard doesn’t answer right away because he doesn’t know how, so Frank takes that as his cue to keep talking. “You’re not like, a virgin?” Gerard barks out a harsh laugh that sounds nothing like himself.

“No, I'm not a fucking virgin.”

“You don’t need to be a dick about it.” Frank snaps back and Gerard puts his hands over his face, hating the impatience that he’s causing. “You don’t have, like… you haven’t had like… like a shitty experience in the past? Or something? I don’t know.”

“No…” Gerard rubs his face. “No, I haven’t been fucking raped.”

“Jesus, man, be that way!” Frank jumps off the bed and the sound of him hitting the ground makes Gerard realize that their magic sexy spell has been broken. Frank is going down his usual list of insecurities that might cause sex to not work out and the two most reasonable things on that list are things that guys are somewhat (but not too often) insecure about: their dicks and their guts. And Gerard’s fine in both departments and Frank knows that his dick works perfectly fine and he’s shirtless enough to not be insecure about himself, so… so what?

“Frank, come on, it’s just really complicated and you won’t even believe me,” Gerard pleads, watching his boyfriend put his clothes back on.

“Try me.” Frank says, eyes spitting frustration, his body language closed off and angry.

“You’re seriously not going to-”

“Fucking  _ try me _ .” 

He leaves Gerard no choice but to try. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was serious about the radiohead song, if you'd like a good emo cry then i highly recommend listening to videotape (and reading the lyrics!)


	19. Sorry About The Blood In Your Mouth (I Wish It Was Mine)

Gerard says: “I’m magic and I don’t know how to describe what that means, exactly, but my mom can read my mind and she’s also homophobic and she’ll know if I fuck you and she might kill me.” Frank quirks an eyebrow. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“No, man… just, explain.” Frank sighs out heavily, running a hand back through his shaved hair. Gerard wishes it was his hand doing that, the way he’s supposed to be, and curses himself for the situation that he’s ended up in. “So, what- what do you mean? What do you mean magic?” 

“Like…” Gerard sighs and thinks this is stupid, this is the way he felt when explaining it to Ray, and to Lindsey. It’s better to show and not tell. So Gerard does. Shows off, another lightbulb shatters, his hair changes color, the pens on Frank’s desk rearrange, the pillows fluff themselves- stupid Snow White type shit that gets Franks eyes wide like there might’ve been some DMT in the last cigarette he smoked. 

Then they talk. And it’s a stupid talk, because it’s mostly Gerard explaining things he doesn’t understand completely, saying  _ just look, man  _ and moving shit around the room with his mind while Frank looks around with a  _ what the fuck?  _ expression and then Frank says-

“You said you’ve been working on getting your mom  _ out  _ of your head.”

“Yeah.” 

“So why don’t we fuck around and deal with the consequences that  _ may  _ come? Together?” Gerard stares open eyed at Frank and thinks he loves him.

As it turns out, the sex is the best that Gerard’s ever had.

Usually, sex is a generally meaningless activity for him. He doesn’t have any properly nice memories of it, just different beds and different guys and leaving after it ends, not stopping to smoke a cigarette or gaze into each others’ eyes after.

Sex with Frank is good in a way that Gerard doesn’t want to forget. He doesn’t want to sound cheesy, but he sort of understands why people call it making love because watching Frank climax is like watching all the leaves turn red and gold in the autumn, a riot of color that’s brilliant and blazing and captivating enough that you can stare forever.

Frank bucks his hips up, the word “AND” stretching on his belly as he arches back and moans with his eyes closed and his mouth open, lip ring shining, and Gerard leans over him, buries his face in Frank’s shoulder and floats in outer space for a second, two, three, four, and then he’s back to earth because Frank starts laughing.

Gerard pulls out and Frank is still laughing, chest heaving up and down with glee and Gerard rocks back on his heels and watches his boyfriend suffer from a post-orgasm laugh attack and is in love with him. 

Frank doesn’t smoke a cigarette after sex because he’s so happy and the shakes don’t get to him. Gerard lies in bed next to him and reads his palm lines- tells him there’s a long and prosperous future ahead of him and knows that he’d like to spend the rest of it like this, in bed and trusting each other. Frank says:

“I’m glad you told me you’re magic so I know you’re not haunted anymore.” Gerard grins blearily and looks down at Frank’s face next to him in bed, those warm hazel eyes dark lashed and luscious.

“Is it better to be magic or haunted?”

“Magic, any day!” Frank replies without hesitation. “You’re my magic man. A literal good luck charm. Just tell me if you feel like dying anytime soon.” Gerard still finds it so strange that Frank  _ knows _ now, knows how Gerard used to sit behind him in their book and media studies class and turn his wet shoes dry because who likes wearing wet Converse? He knows that the lightbulb of their relationship hadn’t exploded by accident, and he knows that Gerard had been avoiding him for decent reasons. 

He knows and he accepts it just fine. He had asked Gerard to prove his magic so Gerard had turned his roots from teal to red and Frank had frowned and asked if it were a fucked up magic trick, so Gerard had made the replacement light bulb explode and Frank had said damn, now we need to buy another.

Frank lies next to Gerard and says-

“You know, I used to write poetry.”

“Really?”

“In high school. I worked for the literary magazine and edited poetry and I read it and wrote it and then I realized it was kind of gay.” 

“But you are gay.”

“Yeah… but still. Want to hear a love poem?” 

“Yeah.” It’s the same as when Frank had played Videotape. He loves sharing things that make him feel something, because he wants to give that connection to someone else. And Gerard had felt connected. When they lay in bed and listened to Thom Yorke sing about suicide and fearlessness, Gerard had felt an unbreakable tie between him and then man in his arms. Frank pulls out his phone just like before and Gerard shifts in bed to take a better look at him. 

“The whole thing’s kinda long, so I’ll just read my favorite lines.”

“Cool.” Frank clears his throat and turns up the brightness on his phone so Gerard can see the angles of his face better and watch his eyes flicker back and forth while he reads.

“And it’s stupid, by the way.” Gerard grins, because he loves stupid.

“I’m the dumbest person in the entire world and I’m sure I’ll love it.” Frank’s eyes bypass his phone and meet Gerard’s. He smiles. Clears his throat again.

“ _ Kissing you is like falling out of a 37 story window, exploding into a cloud of robins, and reappearing on the ground with a mouth full of feathers. And when I can’t kiss you, I try to find the static electricity in my apartment. I dig around in wall sockets, I change the lightbulbs with my teeth, and I makeout with the toaster. _

_ I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple weeks, but baby, when you kiss me, I can’t remember my middle name, which one is my left foot. So come over tonight! We’ll shuffle around the apartment in our socks and we’ll let our lips drift towards each other like tectonic plates made out of kittens.”  _ Frank stops, turns off his phone, and giggles again.

“What’s that called?”

“Static electricity.” As if on cue, both Gerard and Frank are subject to a wicked electric shock that makes both of them yelp and Frank laugh even harder. “Was that on purpose?” He half shouts and Gerard buries his face back in his shoulder, laughing out loud.

They always fall asleep like that. Gerard starts spending most nights at Frank’s dorm. They don’t usually study together because they get too distracted but Gerard will work and Frank will study and they’ll reconvene in Frank Iero’s bed. Sometimes they’ll fuck, sometimes they’ll do a little less than fuck, and sometimes they’ll be so exhausted that they’ll just lie around and talk for a while.

Frank always has something to share. Gerard starts writing down his favorite lines of the poems and songs provided. Frank doesn’t play him the sad songs anymore, just sappy love ones and he mostly reads him poems about love because all either of them can think about is how happy they are with each other. Because finally, things are perfect.

🝡

feb 18 [1:03 a.m.]: ive been through enough wretchedness to know that some flowers can grow through garbage and you make me want to take up gardening

feb 21 [12:45 a.m.]: if you could change anything, please just stay the same because i love everything about you

feb 22 [2:54 a.m.]: i wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. you could drown in those eyes, i said, so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool… i couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but i wore his jacket for the longest time <3

feb 25 [12:15 a.m.]: will you lay with me where the sun hits right? where the tired days can’t remember how a blurring haze came across your eyes. will you lay with me forever?

feb 28 [3:21 a.m.]: im working on loving you the way dogs slobber on the backseats of minivans. im hoping for an afterlife that looks like the windows screensaver. in the morning you wake up & tell me how you dreamt of sleeping. i can never remember my dreams. you say thats ok

🝡

Pete gets out of rehab and calls Gerard before returning to his apartment because he’s too scared to see what it’ll look like. Gerard takes a selection of buses out to the facility in suburban Toronto and hugs Pete when he sees him, happy that he’s a real concrete person and alive despite it all. 

Pete’s finally gained some weight and doesn’t have any eyeliner on so he looks more like a real person than Gerard’s ever seen him. His brown eyes are bright and lively and that familiar grin holds no traces of apprehension. Gerard is so glad to have him back. 

They go to Walmart to get some decorations for Pete’s place. Gerard isn’t sure of how long Pete’s issues with alcohol have been going on for, but they had definitely turned every other part of his life into a last priority and now that he’s sober, he’s apparently realized what a shithole his apartment is. So they buy a nice lamp, a big shelf, a psychedelic type rug, and a shit ton of candles- for ambiance, Pete says. They drag the stuff back to Pete’s apartment while facing the regrets of neither of them having a car.

“You know, I should get a driver’s license.” Pete huffs as he adjusts the shelf in his grip as they walk. It’s early March but the weather is still cold, but it’s not snowing and their hands aren’t frozen without gloves which is a win.

“Have you ever had one?”

“When I was sixteen, I got one because all my friends did and it made my parents happy, but I got drunk and totaled the family car one night so that put an end to that.”

“Well, at least you’re responsible not to.” 

“Mhm, since then. I  _ should _ get a driving license, though, that’s a good idea. That would make everything easier. Fuck!” Pete loses his grip on the shelf and sets it down heavily in the middle of the sidewalk. He straightens up to crack his back and his arms before looking at Gerard, who is laden down with everything else they had purchased. “Do you want to switch?” He asks Gerard, who shifts his own items.

“Nah, not really.”

“Fine.” Pete picks up the shelf again and they stagger the few blocks back to Pete’s apartment. They crowd the dinky elevator with all the new household decorations and Gerard sees the light in Pete’s eyes die a little bit in the familiar shuddery elevator ride up to his floor. Gerard doesn’t blame him because he has no idea how scary this must feel, to re-enter the apartment that you left in a stretcher, unconscious. 

Pete’s changed because he got locked up for a month and medicated for his untreated bipolar disorder but he’s back in the world now. Like nothing’s changed. He’s picking up where he left off after achieving what he would consider nothing in rehab, and he knows that his apartment is going to be a familiar testament of an embarrassing addiction and he hesitates outside the door because fuck it, he’ll admit it, he’s scared.

Gerard can tell. Gerard sees how he stops and chews at his lip, leaning over the shelf and staring at the doorway that he had only seen through drunk eyes for the past few months, or years, maybe, because Gerard doesn’t know how long this has been going on for.

“It’s a real shithole, isn’t it?” Pete asks.

“Yeah.” Gerard sighs in relief as he drops the heavy bags in his arms and leans against the doorway, looking at Pete who looks at the door. It’s almost like Gerard is just waiting for him to ask, but admitting weakness is hard and Pete gets the words out fast so he doesn’t have to listen to them leave his mouth.

“Could you, like, get all the fucking bottles out of there so I don’t have to go in and fucking see all that shit?”

“Yeah.” Gerard repeats. He’s been chewing the same piece of gum for the past few hours and it’s all out of air so he can’t blow bubbles anymore. “Don’t worry about it, man,” he adds when Pete looks sad and it’s such an uncharacteristic expression on his face that Gerard feels the need to change it right away. “It’s all good.” Pete just nods and shifts around, pulling the shelf back so Gerard can open the door.

It’s unlocked. It had always been unlocked- Pete had lost his one key in December and hadn’t bothered going to get another one made because he had always been too drunk to fit the key in the lock when he arrived home and besides, there’s nothing worth stealing inside. No TV, no computer, no nothing. There’s some powdered hot chocolate in the pantry and a sofa he had picked up on the side of the road with a friend when he had just moved to Toronto, but nothing to steal otherwise.

Gerard is glad that the apartment is free of squatters. It’s the way he left it on the night of Pete’s overdose, dirty and destroyed. He goes through the now-familiar motions of getting a trash bag from under the sink and wandering around the apartment, filling the bag with bottles and cans, hearing the way they clink and crush against each other as he fills it. Gerard takes out the trash and moves past Pete in the hall- pale faced and scared of what he’s going to find. 

When Gerard returns, Pete has set up the shelf and a lamp and is now cleaning up real trash, not bottles, just the things left behind from partygoers in a time long before this one.

“I need to go to the store,” he tells Gerard once he re-enters the apartment. “I literally have nothing. I need a fucking vacuum! Who just taps their ash out on the floor? That’s so rude! Why didn’t I care?”

“You were wasted.” Gerard offers.

“Yeah, but still, that’s fucking rude! And I need cleaning supplies, and a broom and dustpan, and, like, food. I have no food.”

“Well, it would have been stale by now.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Pete scratches at his head. His hair is too long and he needs a haircut. He twists his hands together anxiously and Gerard jaws the gum in his mouth, chewing loudly. “You, uh, you want a drink?”

“What are you offering?” Gerard laughs, and Pete’s grin only reaches half his face.

“I’ve got hot chocolate.”

“I’ll take it.” Pete doesn’t spike the hot chocolate today, just makes it with water and that’s it because the milk in the fridge is sour and chunky and makes Gerard want to puke as he dumps it down the drain. Gerard sits on the counter and takes the mug that Pete offers, sipping the chocolate and thinking about how they’ve switched places since the last time he sat in the apartment and drank hot chocolate with Pete.

That time, Gerard had been desperate and crying and sad, reaching out for anyone who could help him and needing that help more than anything. Pete’s not as emotional. Pete sits on the counter too because he doesn’t want to sit in the living room and see the hole he kicked in the wall in a drunken daze he doesn’t remember. He thinks about how hard it is to return to real life and be expected to stay sober when all he can think about is a drink.

“You have like, meetings, now?” Gerard asks for something to say.

“Yeah, AA, they want me to go every day for a while. 90 in 90 shit.”

“What?”

“90 meetings in 90 days, that’s what they say you should do if you’re starting out. I’ve got 30 down, so.” Pete pulls a golden coin out of his pocket and tosses it to Gerard, who looks at it. There’s a big triangle in the middle and the words unity, service, and recovery are printed around the sides. 1 month written in the middle.

“Good on you, dude. Make that sixty next, yeah?” Gerard tosses the chip back to him and Pete gives it a long look before pocketing it. 

“And I’ve got fucking therapy and shit, gotta check in about my meds, keep it all together. It’s a real drag, talking to people about my problems all the goddamn time. I need some happiness, man.” Gerard sits silently, because he doesn’t know what happiness means to Pete. He’s always known it as drinking, and partying, and being crazy. Pete now sits subdued on his kitchen counter while his eyes swim with vulnerability. 

“Well, I’m always here. And Amy! I’ve been meeting with her every week!” This sudden change in topic finally brings the light back to Pete’s eyes.

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?”

“Good, oh my god, so good! I haven’t been hurting at all anymore, it’s like she can’t even get to me. It’s good. And it’s gotta mean something because Frank and I are like, official, now and it’s totally the best.”

“So she’s not in your head anymore?” Pete asks and Gerard almost says yes but there’s a moment of hesitation because, well. There’s moments. Sometimes when he wakes up and he doesn’t know where he is, still clinging to the haze of a dream, he can feel a burning headache and a nausea bubbling in his stomach and he knows she’s there. Sometimes when he’s so happy that he can’t think of anything else but the clear skied future, there’s a cold feeling that hits his chest like stone, like ruin, and his heart might skip a beat and he might gasp for a moment of breath. 

So sometimes, he can still feel her there. Things like this don’t go away so easily.

“Most days,” he tells Pete, which is true. “Most days she’s gone.”

🝡

The leftover ice in March melts away when April comes. Gerard keeps himself busy in the spring. He starts a tutoring group for the witchcraft class because he’s constantly chased after by students and bombarded enough in the halls that it becomes necessary. They meet on Wednesday nights and Gerard sits and explains Wiccanism, and the ethnographic challenges of witchcraft, and the social marginalization of witches in the past and how those who practice are treated today. 

Frank gets a job working in the mail room because he’s been itching to make steady money for a while, and now feels like the perfect time. On the few nights he’s not working, Gerard sleeps over at his dorm. Two or three nights a week, they’ll sleep next to each other in Frank’s tiny dorm room. 

Frank always sleeps on the side by the window so he can smoke out of it without crawling over Gerard, but that leaves Gerard to sometimes fall off the bunk bed in the middle of the night because the twin bed is so tiny and he’ll vault himself back into bed laughing with a newfound headache that Frank will try to kiss better in the warm darkness of the room. 

In the mornings, Frank will open the window to let some of the fresh air in and Gerard will lie there while his boyfriend will sit up, silhouetted in the early morning sunshine and beautiful in the way his hazel eyes look golden when the first light of sunshine comes in and lights up his face. Frank’s window faces east so he gets a perfect view of the sunrise. 

For a while, he used to smoke every morning and would keep his pack of Belmonts and faded lighter on the windowsill so as not to disturb Gerard by climbing over him to retrieve them, but the first-thing-in-the-morning smoking slowly tapers off until the pack disappears from the windowsill and Frank stops smelling so much like smoke. Which is fine by Gerard. The smoking is kind of hot, he’ll admit, but there’s always a background worry of the toll it’s going to take on him in the future. 

Frank takes early morning classes this semester so he has more time to work, and sometimes he’ll make Gerard wake up with him and come down to breakfast, especially on the mornings they have class together, but sometimes he’ll let Gerard sleep in. 

So he’ll feel Frank’s body waking up next to him. Gerard will shift, half asleep, and see Frank’s lean shoulders move in angular lines as he opens up the window and sits still for a few moments, back to Gerard as he watches the sunrise. Then Frank will turn around and kiss Gerard gently, on the forehead because he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet, and he’ll make a crazy maneuver to move over Gerard’s sleepy body to get his feet on the dresser to lower himself down, because at the beginning of the year he didn’t do that and cracked his ankle from jumping down from his bed. It’s too fucking high, but having it lofted gives him more space. 

Frank showers at night so he’ll dress in the hazy morning light of the dorm and give Gerard a very fond look before whispering a goodbye. Gerard always thinks of whispering “I love you”, but he never does. Always falls back asleep before the words can come out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of media has been referenced today!
> 
> \- the first poem frank read out loud is called "static electricity" by neil hilborn  
> \- 1st written quote is from the poem "stop signs" by shane koyczan  
> \- 2nd lyric is from the song "i fell in love with princess peach" by hot mulligan  
> \- 3rd quote (and title of this chap!) is from "little beast" by richard siken  
> \- 4th lyric is from the song "sun" by the hotelier  
> \- 5th and final quote is from the poem "you keep me up at night" by angie sijun lou


	20. Sober to Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of two long ass chapters that i wrote to finish this baby off... man this is bittersweet

Ray saves up to buy himself a ticket to New York City to visit Christa over spring break. 

“I’m so excited for you!” Gerard exclaims when Ray tells him. It’s one of those nights where Frank is at work and Gerard has an essay to write. Ray had been sitting at his desk looking thoughtful and Gerard had assumed he was just doing his work, but Ray had taken off his headphones and said-

“I just got the best deal on a flight to New York.” Because Ray Toro is an expert on being cheap and has found himself a $65 plane ticket (one way, but who knows if he’ll ever want to come back) and he’ll wear multiple pairs of clothes onto the plane and only bring a backpack with him because god knows what they’re going to charge for a checked bag. 

The idea of flying to New York City at the end of the week motivates Ray into a love-induced routine of working his ass off from dawn until dusk, and Gerard hardly sees him because he spends late nights at the recording studio he’s doing an internship at, or holed up in the library trying to study.

Gerard feels much the same. He’s desperate for a moment of peace and can’t wait until Friday night, when there will be no Monday classes to worry about and he’ll have a whole, blissful week alone with Frank Iero. It sounds like an absolute dream. 

Gerard doesn’t see Frank on Monday because he’s up to his neck in ungraded papers in his TA class that he needs to get to his professor. On Tuesday, Lindsey forces him to come over because she hasn’t seen him in “forever!!” and they need to catch up. Gerard realizes how distant their relationship has become and picks up on the fact that he’s pushed her away for a reason, because whenever she talks it’s like all a string of me me me me me and Gerard can’t spend too long with her because he just isn’t as interested in her, Lindsey Ballato, as a concept. As a person. Or much of a friend. 

On Wednesday, Gerard is held up by his stupid tutoring sessions with anxious freshmen who are  _ still  _ anxious, despite making it this far into the second semester. Most of them leave when all their questions are answered but one of them, a teary eyed girl with a pension for oversharing, sits and essentially has a breakdown while Gerard is forced to listen.

“It’s just like, I can’t make any friends! And I’m trying so hard and I’ve  _ been  _ trying so hard but no matter what I do, it’s just like, people don’t like me! And everything is so stressful, and I don’t know what to major in, and I don’t even have a career I want to pursue, and I’m depressed and the freshman fifteen is  _ real _ and I hate myself!” She sniffs and then dissolves into more tears, wiping her red face with both hands. 

“I think you’re just super stressed right now,” Gerard tries to tell her in a patient voice. It’s nearly ten o’clock and Frank doesn’t close on Wednesdays, so Gerard had been excited to finally get to spend a night in his tiny little dorm room- sharing intimate space with someone he loves. It’ll have to wait.

The girl’s name is Tara and she’s Japanese and she wears a University of Toronto hoodie, sweats, and a lanyard so anyone could tell she’s a freshman from miles away. 

“I  _ am  _ super stressed! How do I fix it?”

“Do you have any hobbies, maybe? Anything you do to de-stress? Art, or music, or working out, or anything?”

“No,” she sniffs uselessly, still wiping at her glassy eyes. “Nothing makes me happy anymore.”

“Maybe you should go to the counseling centre?” 

“It’s so much easier,” she hiccups, “to just talk to another  _ student,  _ like, a real person. Like you.” Gerard shifts uncomfortably. “Do you want to go get coffee, or something?” Tara asks, her dark eyes leaving shining tears on her cheeks, a hopeful expression on her face like she’s expecting Gerard to drop everything and buy her a hot drink and listen to her spill her guts. And he would, because he would’ve appreciated someone doing the same for him, but he’s just as tired and tries to keep his sigh light.

“I actually have to go meet someone, Tara, I’m sorry, but maybe after spring break. Are you going home for it?” He asks as a means to know that  _ she  _ won’t go home and kill herself, because it seems like Gerard’s become the go-to person for those falling apart. 

“Yeah.” Tara doesn’t look too enthralled at the prospect but wipes her face off embarrassedly after Gerard’s gentle rejection. “Yeah, break’ll be good.”

“Yeah, it will.” Gerard starts packing up his stuff so she gets the hint that he’s done with the discussion, and she (finally and thankfully) seems to pick up on it. She apologizes heartily to him and he just nods with a tired smile on his face, telling her it’s fine and that he hopes she feels better. And just because he’s a little worried about her, he pushes a little hope towards her, magically winds it into her brain and tries to help with any sort of lack of motivation with his own positive energy.

But he’s tired.

It’s chilly outside and he keeps his head down while trudging heavily across campus, feeling burnt out and just a little miserable about having to undergo two more days of classes. The trek up the stairs to Frank’s dorm is the final straw and Gerard sways as he stands when he finally reaches his final destination. 

He knocks on Frank’s door to let him know he’s there and then opens it to see his boyfriend curled up on his bed by the window, smoking.

“Hey,” Gerard drops his bag on the floor and climbs up onto the bed, feeling relief as he finally gets to just  _ sit,  _ with nothing more to do in the night but relax. 

If only.

Frank turns a little, half his face still hidden by late night shadow, exhaling a breath of smoke.

“Yo.” He says weakly. Frank looks shit. His eyes are low lidded and red like he’s either stoned or has been crying, but he’s not the emotional kind of guy so maybe it’s not the case. Maybe the case is that Frank’s been working himself so hard that he’s worn thin enough to break and he takes another drag on the cig like he’s got nothing to say.

“You okay?” Gerard asks and Frank shakes his head back and forth, a clear  _ no _ , and he takes a deep pull on the dart. The end of it glows a smokey orange and Frank flicks the ash off on the windowsill and his breath is shaky leaving his chest.

“I had a shitty fucking day.” He says in an exhale. Gerard looks tiredly at Frank and Frank finally makes eye contact with him and realizes he’s not the only one. He gestures wordlessly with his cigarette. Gerard follows the motions of the dart, sees the smoke curling out of it and drifting off into the dorm room, and then Frank presses the heels of his hands against his eyes with the cig still held in his fingertips. 

“What happened?” Frank lets out a long, juttering sigh and takes his hands off of his eyes, wiping at them and then continuing to smoke. He angles his body so his folded knees point out the window and he leans against the headboard of the bed, eyes looking at Toronto outside, face turned away from Gerard. 

“I had a fucking panic attack in class,” he tells Gerard through a breath of smoke that makes his face momentarily disappear in a cloud of grey. “Because I’ve been having to do these bullshit presentations all week long and I feel like I’m back in fucking middle school, standing up in the class with my hands shaking and trying to memorize all this shit and there’s so many  _ people, _ and it just fucking won out. Fucking bullshit.” 

Gerard doesn’t reply, just watches as Frank breathes the end of the cig and then drops the butt out the window, watching it spiral into the darkness. Frank moves his pack from hand to hand and Gerard watches his posture- all hunched shoulders and tight lips and tension. He needs a massage. 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, when it becomes apparent that Frank has nothing left to say. He’s the moody kind of silent where his mouth half moves, almost says words that Gerard can’t read on his lips. It’s like the tension in his body has wound him up so tight and the only way to get it out is through breaths of a cigarette, little by little. Gerard thinks he likes Frank better off the cigs. 

Frank doesn’t smoke them for fun, or because it makes him look hot when he tilts his head back and exhales- he smokes them so the sharp anxiety grating at his insides will become soft and dull for a good few hours. He’ll wake up coughing and hacking with phlegm in his throat and think  _ damn, I should quit  _ and he’s spent the last few weeks giving it a try because Gerard’s here and he always feels better when Gerard’s around, but not today. 

“I’ve got really bad anxiety and it sounds stupid, because there’s nothing to be afraid of. And I got all these pills from the doctor and I had a fucking therapist but she like, changed employers, or something? I don’t even remember. And the pills made me feel like throwing up every morning so I stopped taking them and then I started smoking and it was okay for a while but I haven’t had a panic attack in a while and I think I’ve had, like, five this week and I think the world’s falling apart, or something.” 

Frank’s panic attacks are the most embarrassing for him because he always fucking cries. It’s a shitshow. His heart rate will get so fast and he’ll have sweat stains under his armpits, his hands will shake like it’s freezing outside, and he’ll gasp for breath that isn’t there while he cries hot, choked tears that make him feel worse.

He’d stood in his dorm room after nearly running up the stairs (running away from strangers with dark eyes and monsters that hide in the nighttime) and wrapped his arms tight around himself and tried to stop fucking crying while making gasping, strangled noises so as not to alert his roommates to the breakdown taking place. 

Gerard doesn’t know any of this. Gerard looks at Frank and wonders if this is another trick of Donna’s, to fuck with Frank’s mental health just when things have gotten good. To take down another person- to make Frank say something like “I’ve gotta focus on me, man, and you’re a distraction” and then tell Gerard not to sleep over tonight. When sleeping over has been the one thing getting Gerard through his tedious day. 

But he’s not letting that happen.

“I’ve got a remedy,” Gerard tells Frank and tries a smile while shifting through his jacket pockets. “This is fate, I think. Here.” He pulls out a small lilac crystal and moves across the bed so he can press it into Frank’s hand and feel the sweat of his palm. Human connection. 

Frank had been working on folding up the pack, convincing himself that he didn’t need another cig, and now turns to finally face Gerard, feeling weak and stupid and tired. 

“What’s this?” He asks quietly while Gerard drops the crystal into his palm, pouring as much of his own peace as he can into the gesture.

“It’s called lepidolite. For stress relief, and relieving anxiety, too. There’s lithium in it.”

“No way.” Frank smiles a little, now, moving the rock back and forth in his hands. “Think I should swallow it, see if it works?” Gerard just shakes his head with the ghost of a laugh on his face. “Thank you. You really are a good luck charm.” It’s genuine and Frank takes a deep breath that doesn’t shake in his chest, exhaling it and feeling good, gratuitous feelings. He feels better.

Gerard knows why.

🝡

Pete’s two months sober in April and he takes Gerard and Amy out to dinner sort of to celebrate and sort of just because he wants to talk to both of them at once and they’re the two people that he feels closest to these days. They go to a vegan restaurant, not the one that Pete had met Gerard at so long ago on their date at the Distillery District, but the fact that it’s vegan in general gives Gerard familiar pangs of that date. Before Frank, before Pete’s overdose, before everything had grown so unreasonably complicated. 

Pete asks to sit outside because it’s unseasonably warm, in the mid 50s, and he elects to be some of the only people sat out shivering on the patio. The three of them talk about life, AA, work, parties, and magic. Always magic. 

Gerard finds himself oddly subdued during their conversation, wishing that he could have a glass or two of wine to get the words out a little easier, but it’d be a dick move to try that when Pete’s got a brand new 60 day chip in his pocket. So Gerard swallows his stupid insecurities and finally speaks when they’re all halfway through their food.

“I’ve got a question.” He tells them.

“Let’s hear it.” Amy says.

“Well, it’s more of a situational thing. Well.” He just doesn’t want to kill the nice casual vibe they’ve been enjoying all night by bringing it down with discussions of his stupid fucking mom. “Well…”

“Spit it out, man,” Pete encourages and Gerard untangles the words in his mouth just to get them out.

“Well, do you think it’s at all possible for my mom to be able to, like, influence other people’s minds?” Pete and Amy exchange a knowing look full of meaning that Gerard can’t grasp. “Like, can she hurt other people the way she hurts me?”

“Is this specific, at all?” Amy asks reasonably and Gerard thinks he doesn’t know her so well at all, and yeah, she’s danced around inside of his head but he doesn’t want her to know all about his failed familial and now romantic relationships because people always end up sad when they get too close to him. 

But goddammit, he loves Frank. He tells Pete and Amy about Frank's anxious breakdown and Pete shakes his head as soon as Gerard belatedly makes his point. 

“No, man, that’s not how it works.” This relieves Gerard the way Pete’s words always manage to do. “If there’s no magic and no prior knowledge then the link can’t be established. She’s got such a hold on you because she’s your mom, you’re literally blood relatives, but Frank is a stranger with no power. Not magically, I mean. I think he’s just crazy.”

“He’s got  _ anxiety,”  _ Amy says purposefully, half frowning at Pete. “He’s not crazy. Should we start calling you crazy, huh?”

“I am crazy!” Pete grins sharply and Gerard relaxes into the familiarity of the conversation. He puts the topic of Frank to rest after he gets the information he needs and then, when dinner’s over, he walks slowly back to his lonely dorm. Ray has left for New York, he’s probably at the airport right now, and Gerard realizes it’s Friday night and spring break and he’s feeling dumb and emo because of his own paranoia. People hurt, he needs to understand. People hurt and it won’t be his fault, or his mom’s. There’s some things that just don’t revolve around him. 

Frank is working a closing shift in the mail room and had taken the whole week of spring break off, so Gerard spends the night alone in his dorm, wishing that Frank were next to him.

Because he’s insane, Frank shows up early at Gerard’s dorm the next morning with pastries, coffee, and a bright smile because it’s  _ spring break!  _ and there’s no sense in being apart when Ray’s gone for the whole week and they now have Gerard’s roomy dorm to themselves. Though, in the back of his mind, Gerard always prefers Frank’s. If only because it’s started to feel like home. 

Frank doesn’t smell like smoke when he turns up, and he wears a familiar flannel that Gerard had drooled over when they went bowling, and there’s a blind, pure look of dopey love on his face when Gerard wraps him in a huge and familiar hug. They spend the morning talking and looking at Gerard’s crystal collection.

“This one,” Gerard says knowledgeably, picking up a blue and white swirled sodalite crystal, “is the stone of peace. That’s what people call it. It gets rid of fear, and anxiety, and tension. And panic attacks.” Frank takes the crystal and holds it in his hands, feeling the raw energy from it. Gerard takes damn good care of his crystals and had charged this one under the moonlight especially for Frank. 

“Crystals might help.” Frank says slowly, leaning back against Gerard’s bed. They’re sitting on the carpeted floor, bodies nearly overlapping. “But I think I might go back to the doctor.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asks, and Frank bobs his head, half embarrassed. 

“Yeah, why not, you know? It’ll suck, but if I want to get better, it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah.” Gerard’s eyes flicker warmly over his boyfriend’s face. “I’m proud of you,” he tells Frank, who blushes warm. They get sensitive for that moment and then Frank picks up a piece of rose quartz and says something like “is it true that this makes your sexual energy killer?” and Gerard responds with “want to find out?” 

They spend an hour rolling around Gerard’s bed, hot and messy in the sheets, full of life and laughter. Then they shower together where, in the tiny, freezing cubicle, Frank drops to his knees and looks up at Gerard from under a sheaf of wet hair, his body dripping with warm water, collarbones angular and sharp under his pale skin. Frank gives him a fantastic fucking blowjob that Gerard hopes no one else had heard, though he doesn’t check if the bathroom is empty after they get out of the shower. 

Frank asks if Gerard wants to go to Graffiti Alley and Gerard says yes. They check out the street art, they go thrift shopping, they eat ice cream. The next night, they go to a DIY show with some of Frank’s greasy punk friends who are loud and friendly, not tweakers but definitely stoners, who can hold their own in a mosh pit and could probably crush Frank under their big heavy boots. The day after that, Frank drags Gerard down to a tattoo parlor where he gets a good sized scorpion tattooed on his neck and a metal ring shoved through his nose. 

He tries to convince Gerard to get a tiny tattoo or at least an  _ ear _ piercing, but Gerard adamantly refuses. It had been hard enough sitting in that stupid tattoo parlor anyways, hearing the buzz of a machine absolutely  _ rattling  _ full of needles, and he had worked hard so not to pass out. The pair of them spend every waking moment of spring break together- going to shows and art galleries and concerts and being very much in love. 

When the week draws to a close and Ray returns from New York, Gerard essentially permanently relocates to Frank’s dorm because he's coming to realize that he can’t sleep well unless Frank is curled up next to him. Ray doesn’t mind so much- him and Gerard still see plenty of each other and he’s become a workaholic, and has told Gerard in a voice almost bursting with excitement that Christa was thinking about moving up to Toronto in the summer because New York had never really sat so well with her. 

Gerard’s insanely happy for him. Gerard’s insanely happy, period. There’s no drag in April and the rest of the month passes in a blur of  _ good.  _ No thoughts of suicide, no sudden heart attacks. No emails from angry professors. 

On Victoria Day weekend, Brendon Urie shows up at the door to Frank’s dorm. When Gerard opens the door, he’s hit with a sickening feeling of deja vu and stares wildly at Brendon, wondering how the hell he always seems to show up looking apprehensive in someone's doorway.

“What are you doing?” Gerard asks, sounding ruder than he intended. He steps forward and shuts Frank’s door behind him, trapping him and Brendon in the unreasonably narrow hallway lined with the closed doors of Frank’s suitemates. 

“I was looking for you,” Brendon tells him stupidly.

“Yeah, well, you found me.” A pause. “How  _ did _ you find me?”

“Your roommate told me.” Brendon doesn’t say the name ‘Ray’ and Gerard understands that he’s still living in a world of blissful ignorance and has no idea what his name is. 

“Okay, so, you found me.” Gerard repeats, and Brendon blushes.

“Do you want to come on a double date with me and Ryan on Victoria Day?” Gerard stares at him, so Brendon keeps talking. “I wanted to do something special but, well, he’s just not so talkative, you know? And I wanted to go to the islands with him but that’s a whole day type activity and I didn’t want to be talking awkwardly all day long, and you’ve got a boyfriend and you can talk, plus you’re friends with Ryan, and he says you guys talk sometimes so I assume that  _ he  _ talks too-”

“Okay.” Gerard says, partly as a means to cut off Brendon’s word vomit. “Yeah, I’ll come.” 

It’s a great day, in the end. They take a boat to the Toronto Islands early enough in the morning, around nine. The sky is a gradient of deep blue to light, and puffy white clouds are all shaded and gorgeous looking like something out of a renaissance painting. They rent bikes and spend hours cycling around the islands, reveling in the shade that tall green trees provide, and finally ending up on a secluded beach where they eat and talk and hang out in the sand, under the blue sky, feeling young and dumb and happy.

Frank has been wearing swim trunks in place of shorts all day long and takes off his shirt before splashing out into the cold water of Lake Ontario. Brendon and Ryan are sitting on a beach towel side by side, building a surprisingly adept looking sand castle. Ryan looks impossibly tan and wears big sunglasses, while it’s clear that Brendon’s fair skin is on its way to suffering a bad burn, and the Dodgers baseball cap he has on does nothing to protect him. 

Gerard leaves them behind to follow Frank into the water. It’s freezing, which is unsurprising as it’s only mid May so the water hasn’t simmered in the hot summer sun yet. It only gets lukewarm in August, so it’s still freezing today. Frank is standing up to his waist in the water and Gerard stands behind him, wrapping his arms around Frank’s chest. Frank relaxes into the grip and tilts his head back so his hair falls against Gerard’s shoulder. 

They stand together and look out across the shimmering water of Lake Ontario. Gerard knows that his Bacardi bottle of herbs is deep down underwater somewhere, and he realizes that in the end, his message had been heard after all. 

The sun shines overhead and warms Gerard to his core. Frank holds his hands over Gerard’s and they stand together in the water, feeling the gentle waves lap against their joined bodies. It’s a lot like peace at least, feels like recovery and healing and everything good in the world joined together just for this moment. Two of them against the world, except the world isn’t so hateful anymore. 

Gerard and Frank have to take the ferry back earlier because Pete’s having a party and Gerard had promised he would go. Ryan and Brendon stay on the island because they want to watch the fireworks reflect over the lake and Ryan, like the insane hipster he is, has brought a film camera to capture the moment. So their group of four splits into twos. 

Frank and Gerard shower off Lake Ontario together and when Gerard returns to his dorm, he sees himself sort of tanned and sort of tired and wonders if this sore but happy feeling is what Frank was talking about when describing his perfect day. The sun sets as they ride to Brimley and Frank is silhouetted against a purple sky in a neighborhood that Gerard’s never imagined him in. 

The crowd at Pete’s place is different, like usual. Gerard wonders where he finds all these people who sit on the rooftop and smoke and talk like they’re all friends. It’s no matter. Gerard introduces Frank to Amy and the hipsters she’s hanging out with, and then he finds Pete hanging out on the edge of the roof with some dude with huge glasses.

“Hey! Gerard’s here!” Pete calls and jumps up, his body with more energy in it than Gerard’s seen in a while.

“Hey,” Gerard tells him, watching his eyes pick up Frank by his side. “This is Frank, my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Pete flashes him a grin and pumps his hand, tilts his head to see the fresh scorpion. “Nice ink, dude!”

“Thanks,” Frank says in a smiley voice and when Gerard looks at him, Frank looks so chill and happy that Gerard would like to hang out on the darkening rooftop all night long. Because despite his supposed anxiety, Frank is an extrovert and gets along well with other people. He goes to so many DIY shows and has so many punk friends that Pete’s party crowd isn’t at all intimidating, although there’s much less alcohol and cocaine than the New Year’s party. 

Frank and Gerard sit on the edge of the rooftop with their arms wrapped around each other so they don’t fall, even though they’re stone cold sober but had a good enough day that they could get giddy enough to fall off the roof. The fireworks show goes on for about an hour and Gerard is shivering in the chilly night air by the end of it, wondering what it must look like on the ground scene- watching the strikers turn pink as they fly into the air and explode into a raincloud of red and white and gold- Canada for the Americans wrapped in each other’s arms on a rooftop in Brimley.

When it’s late at night and time to go, Pete pulls Gerard aside right before he leaves. 

“Yo, man.” He says warmly. “I’m really happy for you.” 

“You’re what?” 

“I’m  _ happy  _ for you, man. You and Frank, you look so happy together, and I’m stoked about that.”

“Thanks, Pete. That means a lot.” Pete’s eyes look over Gerard fondly and he pulls the younger man into a sudden hug, holding him tightly for a moment and then letting him go. 

“I kinda love you, dude.”

“Are you high?”

“No, I’ve  _ been _ sober, come on! I’m just feeling good for the first time in forever and you’re a really good friend.” Gerard feels like his heart is being bathed in a warm bath and a sparkling, fizzing bath bomb. 

“Well, jeez, I love you too. Good party, huh?”

“Yeah, it was a little more tame than the others.” 

“Yeah, but it was still fun.” They pause for a moment, just basking in the good feeling, and then Amy swings by looking excited and crackling with electricity- breaking the moment and providing a distraction. Pete and Amy say have a good night and Gerard does the same, moving back downstairs to find Frank, who has taken up a conversation with some assorted tattooed hipsters. 

The two of them walk lazily back to the train station with their hands tangled together. Gerard thinks of telling Frank the same thing that Pete had told him, the thing about love, but maybe it’s too early and too soon and so he doesn’t. He thinks about it, though. Holds his boyfriend’s hand and thinks quietly that he’d follow him all the way across the world, for his head and his heart and his handsome smiling face . 


	21. The Sound the Sea Makes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title of this chap is a lyric from the song "dissolve me" by alt-j which is the namesake for this fic. ALSO the poem frank reads is a real poem by f.t. willz (wonder who that could be 🤔)

Things aren’t necessarily perfect, but Gerard hasn’t and doesn’t know if he ever will go more than a week without something bringing him down. But these aren’t things he can’t deal with. 

Ray’s a big planner but also jumps into these plans too quickly, sort of the way someone does when they drive too fast on a wet street and the car hydroplanes, kicking up sprays of water from the wheels and crashing in some heap against a stop sign. But Ray doesn’t crash. Ray’s life is frighteningly perfect. He puts a down payment on an apartment sort of near campus because Christa’s moving up to Toronto in t-minus two weeks and it would be weird for her to sleep in Gerard’s vacated bed.

Gerard thinks it’s fine that they’ll be juniors in the fall and Ray will live off campus, and he thinks about putting his own down payment on an apartment sort of near campus that him and Frank could live in together and be mega happy forever, but things aren’t necessarily perfect, mind you.

Could they ever be?

Frank goes to therapy once a week and usually comes back frustrated because he doesn’t like people trying to get inside his head. Gerard doesn’t tell him that he knows, literally, exactly how it feels and instead lets Frank sit on his bed and stare up at the ceiling, blankly, like he’s lying on the couch at a shrink’s office and letting his brain be picked. It’s exam week, stress week, and the days ahead of them seem long and stressful enough that they don’t even want to imagine living through them. 

Frank rolls up a joint with his sheets as a rolling tray, leaving the black fabric speckled with green bits of ground bud, and then he lights it before speaking around it, asking- “Sorry, did you want one?”

“Do you want to share?”

“No. I can roll you one, though.”

“It’s okay.” It’s raining gently outside and it’s warm, too, so the rain takes on the earthy smell of summer. The edge of Frank’s bed is splattered with raindrops and he himself is getting wet just by sitting in the window, but he doesn’t want to hotbox his dorm and Gerard wonders how Frank gets a dorm without bitchy RAs living in it who aren’t breaking down his door while he smokes all sorts of substances inside. 

At first, Gerard can’t tell if it’s just rain on Frank’s face or tears, and when he realizes that he’s crying, he doesn’t know what to do. 

“Can I roll one?” He asks, and Frank says go ahead, wiping his face, puffing thick smoke from the joint. Gerard’s joint looks like shit because he’s never rolled them before but Frank doesn’t offer to help, just gets himself higher and cries without seeming to notice or care.

“What’s wrong?” Gerard finally asks after a few drags, and Frank spills.

“It’s like I’m remembering fucked up shit that I didn’t remember before, that I didn’t even know _happened._ And it’s like, how the hell does this work? Why am I remembering this shit that I didn’t even think about until now?” He sniffs, takes a huge pull, coughs, wipes his eyes. 

“Repression.” Gerard tells him stupidly, slowly. 

“Yeah, but I don’t _want_ to remember!” Frank cries, burning his fingertips on the filter of the joint and flicking it out the window in frustration, watching it disappear down into the rain. Gerard wonders if they could go outside and find the spot where every one of Frank’s discarded butts and roaches falls. 

He doesn’t keep them in his room because they smell and he doesn’t like looking at the evidence of what he’s done, the same way he doesn’t like remembering the smell of the foster home he lived in when he was eight and the dead man with the purpled arms and shot pupils that he found in a bathtub in that same house when he just wanted to brush his teeth.

“Why should I remember if it’s fucked up and it hurts?”

“I don’t even know.” Gerard responds uselessly. “Maybe it’s like, you need to remember this shit to fully move past all of it.”

“It’s stupid and fucked up and I hate my brain and everything.” Frank tells him. He’s more tense than ever, it seems, his body wound up even after the weed- which just seemed to open up his mind and make him sadder. Gerard’s no therapist, not even a psych minor, and can’t talk for shit about repressed memories and trauma and anxiety and the things that make Frank sit nervously like he’s about to receive a painful shot or get thrown in the electric chair. Like he’s waiting for a strike, for someone to hit him and break him down even further. 

Frank leans forward for the grinder and rolling papers. 

“I need another joint,” he says while Gerard finishes his own. They’re close enough to touch but Frank purposefully moves in these jerky little ways that says he doesn’t want to be.

“No, do you know what I think you need?” Frank doesn’t answer and starts grinding the weed back and forth in the squeaky little contraption. “A massage.”

“Oh, piss off.” Frank says, but he half smiles.

“I’m serious.”

“You can give massages?”

“Uh, _yeah_! I’m a crystal healer, of course I know how to give massages. You can smoke that later, come on.” Gerard bats weakly at the grinder and Frank puts it down on the bed, eyeing Gerard suspiciously. “I’m serious,” he repeats, words dripping with sincerity and confidence. 

“Fine,” Frank says, taking off his shirt in that way he does so well, crossing his arms and arching his back a little bit like he knows how good looking he is and wants Gerard to sit there and know it too. He flops down dramatically, face on the pillow, white pale back facing Gerard, who doesn’t hesitate before karate chopping his boyfriend. 

“Fuckin’ _ow_!” 

“Sorry!” Gerard laughs, halfway giggling and Frank huffs into the pillow, making a weird noise in his throat as Gerard works the heels of his hands into the tense space between Frank’s sharp shoulder blades. The hard muscles under his skin are tense and tight as Gerard straddles his back and leans over, pushing his weight into the heels of his hands to work the stiff muscles below. 

It works, after a while. Gerard can’t see Frank’s face but he makes contented little huffing noises as Gerard works his back, feeling his slim hips under his own thighs, feeling the tightness in his posture give way and become softer, more malleable under his own hands. The massage lasts maybe twenty minutes before Frank wiggles out from under Gerard’s hands and flips upside down with a grin on his face.

“It worked, man.”

“Yeah, you’re feeling relaxed?”

“Super chill, for sure. Want to participate in some other activities?” Gerard doesn’t even need to ask what he means. After their making out and useless grinding against each other turns into clothes off- wet hot spicy lovely sex, they lie in bed next to each other and Frank plays ocean sounds because he says it makes him feel somewhere else. 

Gerard thinks about Pete digging through his head for thoughts of random beaches and he thinks about his favorite one- Cape May, New Jersey, where he and his mom and brother had spent a day on their way back from upstate New York. The houses around it had been so brightly colored that Gerard had dreamed of living there for a long time, before escaping the country became more of a priority to him. 

“I wanna go to the beaches in Southern California,” he tells Frank as they cuddle together. There’s no lyrics to the tune of waves breaking on the shore, but it’s almost more meaningful than Frank’s love poems. 

“Yeah, me too. One day.” Again, Frank’s surefire plans for the future make Gerard weak with the knowledge that he’s invited to spend it with him. Lying there with summer rain pouring down outside and Frank Iero warm in his arms, Gerard thinks of telling him he loves him, but he doesn’t know how. Wonders if he’s too high. Gerard hasn’t said “I love you” too much because he heard it so little growing up and grew convinced that it was reserved for the most special people in the world, like husbands and wives and _good_ kids, not greasy little fuckers like him. Since when had he deserved to hear it?

So he doesn’t say it, not that day. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up in the evening to stay up all night drinking coffee and Red Bulls because sometimes you’ve gotta mix them to get the caffeine boost just right, and they love each other without saying it.

But the feeling builds. Once exam week is over, Frank celebrates by getting them nosebleed seats at a Blue Jays game because he’s into sports and Gerard finds himself not minding being dragged to another game of a sport he barely understands because anything, literally anything, is interesting when Frank explains it in his rough, sexy voice. 

They’re playing the Orioles and Gerard finds himself glad that Frank doesn’t support the Yankees or Mets, because the Blue Jays aren’t too great and sometimes it’s good to support the underdog. Frank wears a Blue Jays baseball cap because of course he has one, he’s got assorted merch from most teams that he follows, and at the bottom of the fifth inning when the home team gets a grand slam, Gerard spins his hat back around so he looks like a frat boy and then kisses him on the lips.

“Jeez!” Frank says after pulling back, his face red from the late afternoon sun and also from the passion of the kiss. His eyes don’t flicker around to see if anyone’s listening (or judging), he just looks Gerard straight in the eyes with honest, pure tenderness in his eyes. “Wish we scored more so I could get more of that, huh?” The cheering crowd, all on their feet around the two of them, sink back into their seats as Gerard tells Frank:

“I love you.”

With no hesitation, Frank’s eyes crinkle as one of those big, whole face type grins takes over him and he says- “Man, I love you too. I really fucking do. I love you so much.” They kiss again and then Frank turns his cap back around to throw a shadow over the blush on his face. On the walk back from the stadium. he asks Gerard to move in with him. Not into his tiny dorm room, but into a real and proper apartment. 

They spend a week packing up their dorms and apartment hunting. 

In under a week they put their own down payment on a shitty little place in the Annex, about a twenty minute walk from campus, with a pretty nice view from five stories up. There’s one big room, a little kitchen, and an even smaller bathroom. For a while, they sleep on a bare mattress on the floor because there’s not much money for anything else. 

Gerard makes his money as a T.A. for two summer courses and Frank gets a paid internship with Student Support Services because he’s smart and dedicated and so capable. Gerard admires him like nothing else. He’d denied the travel trip to Guatemala because he’s living in perfection right now and would like to continue it for the rest of the year, or his whole life, with no questions asked. 

Life keeps moving. 

Brendon’s going back to Vegas for the summer and Ryan back across Canada to Victoria, so they go on a final double date and check out the top of the CN tower, where there’s a glass room with a 360 view of Toronto that has Ryan freaking out with a newfound fear of heights. Then they hit up the aquarium, which has got to be the best one that Gerard’s ever been to. He and Frank spend forever in a darkened room, sitting on a bench and watching pink and purple jellyfish pulse back and forth. 

Even Pete has some newfound love in his life. He calls Gerard up out of the blue one day, like usual, and surprises him with a rapidfire, nearly panicked rhapsody about love.

“It’s Amy, man, we’ve been hanging out a _lot_ recently and you’re not supposed to date right out of rehab but it’s been months, now, and I think I’m holding myself back because I’m scared I’ll get all self destructive and stupid but have you seen her _eyes_ , man? It’s like the Beatles said, it’s like they’re kaleidoscopes. I think she’s so beautiful and so cool.” 

Gerard tells Pete ‘go for it’ and Pete does. In the end, he’s still fearlessly fun- still the same man that had sidled up to Gerard and said “not gonna lie, I think you’re really beautiful” because he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Maybe things aren’t the same, but rock bottom is five months behind them and hidden in memories of snow and empty bottles, the same ones that end up on the bottom of Lake Ontario that are filled with herbs and notes to moms who care too much about their kids. 

Gerard and Frank finally take a trip to IKEA and buy a frame and box spring for their bed, as well as a bookshelf and a huge squishy bean bag. They throw the bookshelf in the middle of the living room and stick the bed right behind it, making the bedroom a half private little corner with a bookshelf separating it from the 'living room' section. The bean bag goes in the middle of the living room where a couch should be, and there’s no rug so the floor remains hard wood.

There’s not enough money for a T.V. or much decor, but Gerard still works on campus to TA summer lessons, and he fills the fridge and freezer with as many meals and ingredients as he can stand to swipe. And it’s perfect and it’s fine because Gerard’s the happiest he’s ever been. 

Christa moves up from New York City and Gerard is forced on yet another double date- this one with Ray and Christa. Her and Frank get along well, because Frank can get along well with just about anyone. Her humor isn’t as sharp as any of theirs, and more than once she gives Ray a confused glance when the three of them tell edgy jokes, but in the end they all get a little tipsy off of funny colored drinks and go walk down by the lake because Christa hasn’t seen it before. 

At the end of the night, they split up and Gerard and Frank wander back through the smooth night air to their own apartment. It’s full of moving boxes, strewn with clothes, and the bean bag in the middle of their one room is like an island in an ocean of things that make them _them._ Frank’s a little tipsier than Gerard because magic alcohol tolerance, remember?, and he stumbles over a box that uprights and dumps notebooks all over the floor. 

“You keep all your notes?” Gerard asks as Frank sinks to the floor, sifting through the books and settling them back into the cardboard box. The overhead lights are too bright so there’s one lamp lighting the dark room, the head of it tilted to the ceiling so the floor is dark and the entire top of the room is lit up white. 

“Mmm, yeah, I dunno why. I color code them and organize the shit out of them, so it’d feel like a waste to throw them out when I put so much work into them.” Gerard sits on the edge of the bean bag with his knees bent, leaning over them while cupping his face in his hands. Frank sits a few feet away with a blanket of notebooks over his lap, frowning at them in the dim light. “Wow, some of this shit is old.”

“What is it?”

“AP History, AP Lang and Lit… damn, AP Psych-”

“Dang, stop saying AP before every class, we get it, you’re a nerd!”

“Shut up!” Frank looks up with a smile, face pulled taut by that sly grin. “I can’t help being smart!” He turns his face back to the notebooks and paws through them, the smile disappearing as he flicks through the pages of a beat up red one. “I think I found my gay emo poetry.”

“No way,” Gerard breathes, leaving the bean bag behind as he scoots across the floor. “Lemme see.”

“Yeah, no!” Frank calls, pulling the notebook away from Gerard. “It’s so angsty.” He shoves himself backwards with his legs and makes a hissing sound as he reads over the poems inside. “Argh, this is awful.”

“Okay, you’ve gotta read me one. Is this the stuff you published in the magazine?”

“No, man. Before I started working for the mag, I sent in a poem during, like, freshman year and it had some reference to suicide, or something, and they denied it because the subject matter was too dark. So I never wrote for them again. Just edited and published.”

“Ouch.” Gerard pauses, eyes bright in the dark room. “But fuck it, read me one.”

“Fine, okay, let me find one that’s not too embarrassing.” Frank flicks through the pages and Gerard sees dark stains of black pen ink and doodles in the corners of things that could make good tattoo designs. His face rises and falls while moving through the notebook pages. Those hazel eyes are brown in the odd lighting, and Gerard wonders how he can read in the dark of the room. They fare better in sunlight. Frank sighs.

“Here,” he says finally, thumbs flickering over a page. “This one’s not so bad.”

“What’s it called?” Gerard asks, and Frank snorts a laugh.

“‘Gold is a four letter word… just like love, fuck, and shit.’”

“Yeahh, that wouldn’t have gotten published in a school magazine.”

“You’re right about that. Okay, I’ll recite it for you, but no laughing. Perfect silence.”

“I’m a good audience member! Only snaps!” Frank flickers his eyes up just for a moment, and then returns to the notebook. Clears his throat and begins reading.

“Step outside into a charcoal drawing. It’s a familiar place you hated as a kid, but have metastasized a newfound respect for once your back started aching on the reg.” Frank frowns at the words in front of him before continuing.

“Hometowns are hell, until you’ve actually seen hell… and a sight like that cannot be unseen. But upon viewing, home will transform into a paradise, your paradise, and local haunts will become exactly that. A place in which you would be happy to linger forever, trying your damnedest to escape that tunnel of light.

People very rarely last forever. The old must be old for a reason, and the good, as they say, die young in car crashes and chic drug overdoses. Probably before they have time to realize how much bad shit you can really get away with and still be considered ‘good’.”

“Do you want to grow old?” Gerard asks before he can help himself and briefly hates himself for interrupting. “I always thought I’d live forever,” he adds, sort of stupid, but the line ‘people very rarely last forever’ has resonated in strange ways with him. He’s wasted enough of his life dating lesbians who eat grapefruits and thinking about slitting his wrists the same way she did, so here’s to twenty extra years on top of a hundred just because he enjoys life so goddamn much. And has found someone to live it out with.

“It depends on what the future’s like.” Frank mumbles thoughtfully. “Some Doctor Who episodes really turned me off to the whole ‘immortality’ thing.”

“Oh, yeah, well. I always wanted to be a Timelord.”

“Yeah, you would.” Frank hesitates a moment longer, his eyes fixed on Gerard. Then he breaks away. “Well, lemme finish, then we can discuss existentialism.”

“Sure, sorry.”

“So what of the rest of us? The ones that hover and watch. Witnesses. Painfully mediocre. At peace with the world happening to us. Not good, not bad, not old, not young… just in attendance. Eh, it doesn’t matter. 

Because you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you’re eligible for some sort of government assistance. Or at the very least a half price app at your neighborhood greasy spoon… but it's the little things people, that’s what I’m getting at. You won’t realize it now, in fact you probably won’t get it until it’s almost too late. But we all do get the wake up call. 

Some of us lucky/unlucky bastards answer it just before the t.v. sizzles (find someone you love, and make ‘em love you dammit)... and we realize that in this world diseased with the celebration of stupidity, absurdity, and precious metal commercialism these things, these motherfucking things, (we’ll drown in things!), the only ‘thing’ that really matters is an honest smile from someone who truly gives a shit about you totally, completely, unconditionally.” 

That’s the end. Frank closes the notebook and looks up at Gerard. They spent a moment in knowing silence where too much passes between them without the use of words, and Gerard nearly wants to cry with all these lovely feelings twisting and working inside of him.

“I love you, Frank.”

“I love you too,” Frank breathes, dropping the notebook onto the floor as he stumbles up and makes for Gerard. “Your stupid smile is the only thing that matters.”

“Hey, you’ll hurt my smile’s feelings!”

“You’re dumb,” Frank choruses, lifting Gerard to his feet and hugging him tightly. “You’re my dumb, smart, sexy, amazing boyfriend and I love you.”

“I can’t be dumb and smart at the same time.”

“Yeah, you can. God, I love you. A million times over.”

“I love you a billion times over.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Want to hear it? I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you-” Frank cuts him off with a kiss that surprises Gerard but he smiles against Frank’s lips (his favorite thing in the world, smiling while kissing your favorite person, because kissing and sex should never be serious and is better served with laughter and happiness), and then they stumble past the bookshelf and onto the bed that they can finally just sit down on instead of fucking _climbing._

Their bodies move together with ease, no pushback, no hesitations. In their own apartment and their own heads. In love. They’ve become sort of sex crazed, the part of the relationship where once a day isn’t _nearly_ enough because they’ve finally perfected the motions, but when Gerard pushes into Frank, it’s like the first time all over again because he just can’t get enough.

Frank’s mouth is open and his small body nearly shakes under Gerard’s, all tense and wound up with it. He doesn’t make any noise yet, just opens his mouth and tilts his chin back while Gerard rocks his hips, feeling the warm slide of Frank’s body around him, an indescribable connection. He feels so hot, so warm, so raw and he moves faster while Frank finally makes a noise- something small and stifled but his eyes are closed and his hands flutter around Gerard’s body like he doesn’t know what to do as he rocks back and forth while Gerard pounds into him.

They climb up and up towards ecstasy. Gerard moves fast and hard while Frank moans in undeniable pleasure, not giving a shit about waking up any neighbors, not giving a shit _period._ Gerard feels like some root has taken place deep within him, like this is a wordless prayer, like he’s discovered something that there’s no words for.

He sees a clear blue sky. He thinks _I love you I love you I love you I love you._ Stars, a shining lip ring, pink lips, puffy clouds. 

“Jesus fucking- _Gerard_!” Frank stutters in a heavy breath and then he’s wordless and gone, the orgasm turning the tension in his body into soft kindness as he comes sticky white over his own stomach and then there’s a fit of laughter and Gerard collapses, pulling out and laughing with Frank, who’s wiping tears from his eyes as he howls with laughter. 

“I don’t know!” He nearly screams, that white hot grin of his lighting every muscle of Gerard up. “I don’t know what’s so fucking funny!” 

“It’s okay,” Gerard placates, gasping for breath to calm himself down. “I love it.”

“Yeah, you would. Weirdo. It’s just I’m so fucking happy, man. It’s like the most fun ever, like the best bliss in the world. You’ve just gotta laugh about it.”

“About getting fucked mercilessly?”

“Not when you put it like that!” Frank lets out a long, low breath and looks over at Gerard with a twinkle in his eye. They lie around talking for a while, about laughter and plans for tomorrow and the day after that. Then they finally watch Isle of Dogs on Frank’s shitty laptop. Both of them cry. 

When it’s finally time to sleep, Gerard wonders if Frank will play a song for him.

“What’s tonight’s tune?”

“It’s by Courtney Barnett. I used to play her on the show all the time, back in, like November. This one’s called Sunday Roast.” Back in November, they had been two separate people. Gerard had lain awake at night listening to Frank talk while knowing nothing of his life, throwing up on the floor because his mom didn't like the stuff that Frank made him think about. Gerard had probably listened to this song when Frank played it back in November and hadn't really thought twice about it.

Frank clicks off his phone and lets the music fill up the darkness as it usually does- warm and rolling. Her Australian accent calms Gerard as he listens to the lyrics.

_I know you’re doing your best, I think you’re doing just fine._

It’s pure indie rock with twists and licks of guitars making Gerard feel sea green, velvety and iridescent. He closes his eyes and holds Frank’s warm body close to him.

_Keep on keeping on, you know you’re not alone._

_And I know all your stories, but I’ll listen to them again._

The familiarity and pure, complete desire that comes with the lyrics make Gerard want to cry. When the song fades out, he wipes tears from his eyes as Frank says softly-

“That’s my favorite love song.”

“Makes sense.” Frank moves around in the darkness, getting settled under the heavy comforter and turning on the calming sound of an ocean before cuddling up to Gerard, sleepy and perfect.

“Goodnight, Gee, I love you.” 

“Love you too.”

They fall asleep to the sound of waves breaking on a faraway shore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u guys so much for reading, leaving kudos, and especially commenting <3 it's my fave thing in the world to hear feedback and i'm so glad ppl enjoyed reading this
> 
> i started writing this almost exactly 3 yrs ago and gave up on it 3 chapters in, leaving it to collect dust until i picked it back up this spring when corona left me alone with all my old dusty unfinished fics. and i'm so glad i reworked it! thanks to everyone who's been along for the ride.
> 
> pls feel free to check out my other fics! currently i'm in a hole of wolfstar hell but there's another old 3yr old frerard that i'm thinking of reworking/writing, so keep an eye out for that. (it's gonna be really cool if i manage to pull it together)
> 
> again, a million thank yous to everyone for reading! mwah 😘


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